First Time for Everything
by KNO3
Summary: It's a dull, rainy day in Arkham Asylum, but Joker has just the thing to cheer up the rec room: strong-arming his fellow Arkhamites into recounting their first visits to the asylum. Features the entire Rogues Gallery. No slash, pairings, or OCs.
1. There Go the Lights!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the DC characters, places, or referenced plots. This story was written for fun. Any profits will go to help fight corruption in the Gotham City Police Department via enormous raises for everyone.

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><p>The recreation room of Arkham Asylum had seen better days. In one corner, an old television was nailed to the ceiling, covered with dents, dings, and scratches, and well out of any inmate's reach. Before the old tv sat a couch, a faded, dingy affair which could have graced a secondhand store several years ago, but had decayed to the point of shapeless, lumpy cushions on a hard frame. Judging by the expression on Pamela Isely's face, it was not comfortable. She shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable but obviously failing. Joker, sitting a few feet away from the beautiful villainess, burst into high-pitched laughter.<p>

"AHAHAHAHA! 'Smatter, _Pammy, _can't get _comfy?_"

Harley Quinn, who was seated between the two, starting giggling appreciatively.

"Awww, that's a good one, Mr. J!"

Jonathan Crane looked up briefly from his chess game, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Across the table from him, Jervis Tetch heaved a deep sigh and pushed forward one of his pawns.

"Four squares to go," he murmured sadly, glancing out the window. Rain poured down against the pane, painting the outside world a misty, unfocused grey. It was a miserable day in Gotham.

**"That's the fourth time in a row you've made flush, _Eddie," _**came Harvey Two-Face's harsh growl. **"You better not be... _cheating_."** The silver coin rose in the air, spinning end over end until it clattered on the table. Bad heads.

Edward Nygma's grin faltered, and he looked sour.

"I'm not cheating," he mumbled, arranging the cards in his hand. "I'm not."

"Aw, give him a break, Harvey," Killer Croc put in. "He's probably just getting lucky."

Harvey's scarred visage did not waver in the slightest.

**"Sure he is."**

In the opposite corner, Arnold Wesker crouched miserably on a hard-backed wooden chair next to the asylum "library" of perhaps thirty books. He was trying to read a book, but every few paragraphs-

"Hurry up, Dummy! C'mon, turn da page already! Geez, whatsa guy got ta do around here ta get a decent read?"

Wesker's hands trembled uncontrollably as he hurried to turn the page over.

"Y-yes sir, Mr. Scarface," he muttered.

On his lap, the bad-tempered puppet shook its head in disgust.

"Ya know, Dummy," it said ominously, wooden mouth clacking open through Wesker's unconscious puppeteering, "I'm startin' ta get tired of hearin' yer voice..."

Jonathan Crane glanced idly over his shoulder at that, observing Wesker with an air of languid detachment. Jervis Tetch slumped onto the chess table, sending several captured pieces rolling to the floor.

"It's hopeless," the Hatter moaned. "'Here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.'"

"An odd country," Crane said automatically, still with his eyes fixed on Wesker.

Tetch opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by an explosion from the card table. He looked over to see Harvey Dent throw his cards to one side and dive across the table.

**"That's it, Nygma!" **Dent roared, catching the unfortunate Riddler by the lapels. **"You little rat! I'll kill you for that!"**

Killer Croc tried to intervene at this point, pointing out that the guards would take them all to solitary, but the enraged Dent was too angry to listen. Ignoring Croc's protests and Nygma's stuttered apologies, he clenched the Riddler's shoulder with his right hand and drew back his acid-scarred left for a mighty blow. Jonathan Crane tipped back in his chair, mildly amused by the look of trepidation on Eddie's hapless face.

At that very moment, an enormous flash of lightning lit the whole room. It was followed by a crash of booming thunder. The lights flickered and went out. For a split second, there was silence. Then...

"MISTAH JAAAAAAAYYYYY!" Harley shrieked. "I'm afraid of the dark! Mistah J, Mistah J, Mistah J!"

This started Crane laughing; the Joker followed suit.

**"Nygma! Where are you? When I get my hands on you..."**

"Harley, settle down. The lights will be back on soon enough. And look on the bright side; all this rain is very good for the plants."

"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting... aaah! Mind your temper, Mr. Dent!"

"HEEEELLLLLP! MISTAH JAAAAAY!"

"Will somebody shut dat dame up! Oh, no, don't you start, Dummy!"

"Hey, hands off! It's me, Croc!"

"Oh, hello Nygma. Nyctophobia much?"

**"Where's Nygma? I'm sure I heard him over here!"**

"Not that I'm not _flattered, _Bacon-face, but I'd really appreciate if you kept your hands to your_self. _And by _appreciate, _I mean I'll carve the other half of your face so bad you'll have to switch _sides_ if you don't let go of me right now, 'K?"

"EVERYONE FREEZE! EVERYONE FREEZE! THIS IS SECURITY!"

The booming voice was accompanied by a series of ominous clicks and the sudden appearance of flashlights. The blinding beams shot around the room, settling on first one face, then another, as the guards did a quick inmate count. There was a collective sigh from the Rogues as they slowly fell silent. Crane scowled, crossing his arms across his chest; why did the guards have to step in and provide social order, negating the rising fear in the uncertain darkness? Harley breathed a sigh of relief and latched onto her puddin's arm. Puddin' frowned at her but allowed her to remain. No use in setting the guards off just yet. It wouldn't be FUNNY, now would it?

"Okay, everyone just stay calm," instructed the lead guard, a muscled African-American with a hook where one hand should be. "We're working on the power right now. Smith! You got the windows clamped down?"

"Yes, sir!" came a muffled yell from the hallway.

"Good work. Now listen up, all of you. This room is sealed off. I don't advise trying to go through the windows; we've installed a high-voltage security wire. I want all of you to stay calm and remain where you are," the head guard said sternly. "We'll have the lights on in a few minutes."

"Just a moment, Captain _Hook_!" a mocking voice rang out. The guards' flashlights flew across the room to rest on the Joker's evil grin. "Why aren't we all going back to our _cells_, hmmm? I could use a bit of _shut-eye_ right about now!"

The guard tensed. Crane smirked and, taking advantage of the man's weakness, followed the Joker's lead.

"That's right, Mr. Cash," he said, blinking as the lights suddenly flashed to illuminate his face. "You and I both know this isn't standard asylum procedure."

"We're having some trouble with the new electric door locks," Cash said after a moment. "Fortunately, this room is not affected. Understand, it is not affected. Until we can get the power back on, you'll all just have to stay put."

"Ooh! How scary! Trapped in the asylum at night (or at least late afternoon) during a _terrible _thunderstorm!" The Joker folded his hands under his chin and looked up at the guard with wide, pleading eyes. "Won't you please leave us something to keep away the boogeyman? Your flashlight, for instance?"

Aaron Cash stared at the clown in disgust. He knew very well what the Joker was playing at; the psychotic comedian was an expert at turning things, anything, into a weapon. If he left the flashlight with the Joker, he would probably come back to find it being used as a bludgeon or electrifier or other creative torture device. On the other hands... he glanced at Harley Quinn, still clinging tightly to Joker's arm. The dark would just give Joker- and probably Scarecrow as well- the chance to further terrify their fellow Rogues and in general cause chaos. It was a bad choice either way.

"All right, I'll leave you a flashlight," Cash assented. "But I'm leaving it with Dent."

"Oooh? You mean you don't _trust _me?" Joker screwed his face into an exaggerated expression of shock and betrayal. "After all we've been through together..." he placed a hand over his heart, shaking his head sadly. "I'm crushed, Cap'n, abso_lute_ly crushed! And besides, big bad Harvey here'll just use it to break kneecaps, won't you Harv?"

Two-face ignored the jab to his ribs and glared at the Joker.

"I'll take my chances," Cash retorted, tossing the flashlight to Harvey Dent. "And listen up, all of you: if anyone gets hurt, anyone at all, I can promise a week in solitary and suspended privileges after that."

The guards beat a quick retreat, the door slamming shut after them. There was a moment of silence before the Joker grinned, cracked his knuckles, and said,

"Well, that was fun! Now, Harv m'friend, hand over the flashlight."

**"He gave it to me, clown!"** came Harvey's harsh growl.

"Oh, I know. And now I'm taking it away from you. _Get _the picture?"

**"We gotta flip," **Harvey muttered. The flashlight clicked on, and the entire rec room watched the little silver disc flying, spinning, through the beam of light to land in Harvey's hand. The bifurcated villain looked down at it and tossed the flashlight to Joker without another word.

"Good choice," the Joker sneered. "Now, boys and girls, gather 'round the campfire, so to _speak. _Your dear ol' family-fun-loving Uncle Joker has something to say." The Joker climbed atop the game table and handed the flashlight to Harley. "Here y'go, pumpkin pie, just keep the spotlight on me." Harley squeaked in joy and immediately shone the flashlight straight into her puddin's face. Joker grinned and gestured widely to the assembled villains. "Now, I know what you're all thinking. What a _shame _it is that we have to locked up in this dark, boring old room all day with absolutely NOTHING to do. Well... good news, everybody! I've got a _great _plan that will keep us all entertained (and by 'all' I really mean 'me.') See, I've been hearing rumors about a _new _inmate. That's right, Crockers! We're about to make a new _friend!" _

The Joker broke out into psychotic laughter while all the other Rogues traded looks.

"So..." Croc finally said, scratching his head, "what's your idea, then?"

"So glad you asked, Crockers! I was thinking we could make the new fish feel all comfy- it's the least we can do to help him settle into such a _crazy _environment! So we're all going to sit down in a circle and tell stories!"

"Stories?" Poison Ivy repeated. "You're even more screwloose than I thought."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw hand grenades," the Joker replied. "But _seriously _now. We all remember our first time in Arkham- the very first time we walked through that beautiful revolving door into the _luxurious _lobby, to be whisked away to Arkham's Ultimate Funhouse and Freak Side Show! Ahhhh... how clearly that day sticks in my memory. The doctors' horrified stares, the nurses, shrieking in laughter, and then the bellboy escorting me to my own personal padded cell." The Joker shook his head fondly. "Good times, good times."

"So you want us to recount our first, er, incarceration in this wretched institution?" Nygma inquired from somewhere behind Killer Croc. "And why, exactly, would we do that?"

The Joker grinned.

"Why, so I'll tell you all about our new roomie, of course!"

There was a dead silence. None of the Rogues looked impressed. Joker scowled and leaned forward threateningly.

"_And _so I don't, I don't know, rip off your toenails and shove them so far down your throat your breath will smell worse than your socks."

There was an immediate murmur of assent. The Joker smiled and leaned back, satisfied.

"I knew you'd see things my way! Right-ho, who's first? Pammy? Jonny? Don't make me pick somebody..."

Harvey Dent cleared his throat.

**"All right, clown, I'll bite. But one thing first." **He held up his two-headed coin, showing first one side, then the other. **"Standard fifty-fifty option. Good heads, I go ahead and tell your little story. Bad heads..." **his expression didn't change on either half of his face, **"I break your arm for stealing the flashlight and make you tell yours first."**

Joker grinned.

"A-OK by me!"

There was a faint ringing sound as Harvey flipped. Catching the coin in his right hand, he turned it over onto his left and looked at it. He sighed.

**"Okay. Okay. It was two years ago, right after the Bat had stopped my plan for revenge on Thorne..."**


	2. Double or Nothing

The night shift at Arkham Asylum was never enjoyable. The mouldering stone walls, high Gothic arches, and leering gargoyles were menacing enough during the daylight; once the sun had set, Arkham became a nightmare. Shadowy figures danced on the walls, the windows cast long, sharp, shapes on the ancient stones, and the carved faces above the doors took on a cruel and knowing look. The inmates hardly made it more enjoyable; inmates moaned incessantly, murmured to themselves in worried voices, wept into their hands, and pleaded with passing orderlies to let them out, they shouldn't be there...

And then, of course, there were the new inmates. The first was quiet enough; merely sat in his cell, the artificial snow swirling around him in silent billows. Occasionally, a passing orderly reported hearing music, sharp and high and quiet, or heard him weeping and talking in his sleep. It was tragic, really; all the staff felt sorry for Dr. Fries and hoped they could help him. He was grieving, poor man, and had such a high chance of recovery...

Pamela Isley was another matter. The male guards and orderlies were forbidden to even approach her cell; despite the artificial lights and hard stone walls, a certain herbal scent wafted continuously from beneath the door, floral and exotic. Isley talked sometimes in her sleep, murmuring to her babies and promising vengeance on their persecutors. Sometimes she sang in a rich, husky voice; sometimes she ranted and raved, eyes flashing, about the latest environmental misdeeds. But she, too, remained relatively quiet.

The third inmate, however... no one knew where he had come from, or what his real name might be. They tried to wash off the makeup at first, but gave it up; whatever had happened to "the Joker" had left him permanently pale, with dark green hair and a bright, lollipop-red grin. The administrators gave up trying to find him an alias and placed him in the high security cell, continuously straitjacketed. Unfortunately, they couldn't stop him from laughing.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!"

The maniacal laughter echoed throughout Arkham, causing all the nurses on duty to reflexively stop and glance over their shoulders. If Arkham Asylum had been frightening before, it was terrifying now. The nurse on duty at the front desk shivered and turned to say something to the nearest guard.

Just then, however, a powerful pair of headlights swept up the drive, chasing jagged shadows across the wall, and stopped in front of the main entrance. The nurse glanced nervously at the clock- nearly two in the morning. Who could be...

"Harvey, I'm so sorry... please, please believe me..."

The door flew open, and five people came through it all at once. Three were police officers, closely flanking a large, powerfully built man in handcuffs and a two-tone, pieced-together suit. The man's head was down, and he appeared to be saying something to the woman clinging to his arm. With a cry, she dropped his arm and fled back towards the door, covering her face with her handkerchief. The man half turned to watch her go.

"And who is our... er... new arrival?" the nurse asked, as the Arkham orderlies advanced to take over from the police. They were all too happy to step back, and the nurse blinked in surprise. "Oh, Mr. Dent. What are you doing here?"

The former D.A. turned to face the nurse, and she recoiled in horror.

**"Dent's gone," **he growled. **"It's Two-Face now." **

The nurse gasped and backed away, the usual welcoming, encouraging speech forgotten.

"I- I'll call a doctor," she said. Dent ignored her- ignored all of them- as the policemen removed his handcuffs and the orderlies approached, hesitant, with a straitjacket. They knew the protocol for previously restrained patients, but obviously didn't want to straitjacket one of the most powerful political figures in Gotham. They were uncertain, unsure, undecided...

Harvey Dent reached for his coin. The orderlies' eyes widened briefly, but relaxed when they saw what it was. No one could get hurt with a coin, after all. Dent flipped it over onto the back of his hand and glanced at it. Then he turned and punched the nearest orderly in the jaw. The others gaped for half a second and dove for his cuffs. Dent fought back, kicking and cursing, bad eye flashing malevolently in the dim fluourescent light. It was no use. The orderlies at Arkham were hired according to height and weight; they thrust Dent's arms into the straitjacket and belted it tightly- though not too tightly, as this would all be in the papers. Dent continued to kick and lunge and growl out mingled threats and curses. Suddenly, the orderlies had seized him tightly, and a round, pretty, cocoa-brown face popped into view.

"Harvey Dent!" Dr. Leland gasped, sounded scandalized.

**"Forget it, doc," **Two-Face rasped. **"Like I told the lady. You're talking to Two-Face."**

"I- I read the paper, but I never..." Leland stopped, looking worried. "You need to rest, Mr. Dent. I'm going to sign you in to one of our intensified care units until tomorrow morning, all right? Just- just go with these gentlemen and try to relax."

"Oh, Harvey!"

Dr. Leland turned, nodding to the orderlies to hold Dent steady as Grace Lamont rushed back to her fiancee for a final hug, or a word good-bye, or... Two-Face glared at her resolutely.

"Listen, we can get through this," Grace said, tears running down her face. "I know it seems bad, but Harvey, there are doctors here, they can help you-"

**"We gotta flip for it," **Two-Face muttered.

"They can help you, Harvey," repeated Grace. "I'll be back, I promise! We can get through this, Harvey, you can get help now. I won't leave you."

The former D.A. remained silent throughout this speech, staring stoicly at a spot over Grace's shoulder. Finally, Grace leaned up and kissed Harvey's scarred cheek.

"I love you, Harvey," she repeated, and turned away to go.

Watching her receding back, Dent sighed and muttered,

**"Which one?"**

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><p>"...I'll be your primary physician for the next few weeks, Mr. Dent. We'll be seeing each other in weekly sessions on Tuesday. Since you're a new patient, you'll be allowed an hour in the recreation room every day," Dr. Bartholomew was saying, his words blending into a monotonous, inflectionless drone. "With good behavior, you may receive up to two hours of recreation room per day."<p>

Two-Face looked up at that.

**"And what if I'm... bad?"**

"Well, privileges will be restricted, of course-" the doctor looked startled at being spoken to.

Dent nodded.

**"Double or nothing. I like that."**

Dr. Bartholomew leaned forward curiously, adjusting his glasses.

"Tell me, Mr. Dent, why did you attack the orderlies when you first arrived?"

The scarred ex-politician shrugged.

**"Coin landed bad heads up." **

"I see. Tell me about this coin."

**"Real simple." **Two-Face held up the coin, showing first one side and then the other. **"Good heads, bad heads. Two faces, just like me."**

"But you don't have to have two faces," the doctor pressed. "I'm sure you're aware of the option of- surgery. They did offer it to you in the hospital, didn't they?"

Two-Face stared at him, expression unreadable.

**"We gotta flip for it." **

Dr. Bartholomew watched in fascination as the bifurcated man flipped his coin with all the solemnity of a judge pronouncing sentence, flipped it over onto his scarred hand, and looked at it. His eyes traveled lazily to the meet the doctor's.

**"All right, doc. The coin says _yes. _Now, we just gotta flip to see _which si-"_**

"Where did you get this coin?" Dr. Bartholomew interrupted hurriedly. "Does it have any special significance to you?"

Harvey Dent relaxed, leaning back in his chair. To the psychologist's chagrin, he picked up the coin and began flipping it absent-mindedly.

**"Sure it does. My father gave it to me... I just scored some damage on it. It was two-faced. Useless. Now, we've got two sides to choose from."**

"And you use it to make every decision?"

**"That's right," **Two-Face rasped. **"See, the thing about chance... it's completely random, completely unbiased, completely _fair. _Chance can't be bought off or threatened or tricked. It will never betray you or..." **his eyes flashed angrily for a moment. **"...lie to you. And it's balanced. Light and dark, white and black, good and evil, life and death... they're just two sides of the same coin."**

"I see," Dr. Bartholomew said, nodding as if he did see. "But what about free will? What about making your own decisions?"

**"What about _taking control of my life?" _**Two-Face's voice was heavy with bitterness. **"Why do you think I'm here, _doc?"_**

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

The former D.A. laughed roughly- nothing like the easy chuckle from his campaigning days- and caught his silver coin with his left hand. Flipping it easily onto his right, he shook his head.

**"Sorry, doc. Check back tomorrow... or in two days... maybe you'll have better luck."**

Dr. Bartholomew swallowed, nodded, and got to his feet.

"That's all our time for today," he said, extending a hand warily. "The orderlies will take you back to your cell. Welcome to Arkham, Mr. Dent."

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><p>Just wanted to clarify: I am writing this in the BTAS airdate timeline, which is why Joker, Mr. Freeze, and Poison Ivy are the first three in Arkham Asylum. Dr. Bartholomew appears in the episodes "Dreams in Darkness," "Lock-Up," and "Trial." The idea of the coin from Two-Face's father is from "Batman: the Long Halloween."<p> 


	3. His and Hers

**"...and that was my first time in," **Two-Face rasped, flipping the coin reflexively. **"The next morning, the doctor came back and tried to talk again. But it was too late... we'd already flipped for good." **

"Mmmm. _In_teresting," the Joker grinned. "But tell me, Harv- you can trust ol' Mr. J- whatever happened to that beautiful little-?"

The Joker was interrupted by a scarred fist to the nose.

**"Shut up, clown," **growled Two-Face. **"I mean it." **

The Joker merely laughed, blood running down his face and over his mouth. Gingerly, he touched his nose with a pale forefinger.

"Didn't realize it was such a _sensitive _subject," he quipped. "All right, Pammy, why don't you go next?"

Poison Ivy glared at him, eyes glowing like twin emeralds in the dim light. Crossing her arms, she turned away, glaring over her shoulder like a villainous model.

"Why should I?"

"Oh, _seriously, _Pammy!" the Joker exploded. "Act your age, for once. You're setting a bad example for the children!" After another scathing glare, he sighed and amended, "Oh, _fine, _be that way. Eddie. Why don't you tEll uS a StoRy?"

The Riddler looked up, surprise registering on his face. Then, his eyes narrowed and he smiled cunningly. Joker recognized that look- it was the same psychiatrist-I'm-working-ya look the Scarecrow got sometimes when he was ascertaining the new intern's fears. He had to admit, it was a good look on Eddie... if it weren't aimed at him.

"Got something ya want to say, Eddie boy?"

"Hush," the Riddler replied, that crafty smirk never leaving his face. "I'm thinking..."

The Joker pulled an exaggerated look of concentration and mouthed _"I'm thinking." _Harley Quinn giggled.

"This new criminal... you promised to tell us more about him," said the Riddler.

"What makes you think it's a _man?" _the Joker said teasingly.

"Yes, Eddie," Poison Ivy said. "Why so... sexist?"

The Riddler merely smiled.

"Don't be stupid," he said condescendingly. "You mentioned helping _him _to settle into the asylum, Joker."

"Right you are, Eddie ol' boy!" the Joker said, cheerfully slapping the Riddler on the back. "So I guess that will be your clue for this round. The new inmate is male. Though I won't say a man..." he waggled his eyebrows mysteriously. "Put the letters up for the next round, Vanna!"

"Right away, Mr. J!" Harley shrieked. She leapt to her feet and began pointing at invisible letter squares in the air. The Joker scowled and shook his head.

"When will she ever learn?" he muttered. "HAR-LEY! Stop that, before I come over and knock some _sense _into you! It was a _joke!"_

"R-right away, Mr. J," Harley said, backing away and taking a seat between Jonathan Crane and Arnold Wesker. "Sorry."

Joker sniffed and turned back to the Riddler, who was grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary. This only increased Joker's irritation. He didn't know what bothered him more- the fact that Eddie might possibly be reading between the lines and squirreling out the Joker's well-kept secret, or the fact that he sat there looking like he did. Arrogance, he decided, was reprehensible in everyone except him. You had to have a certain _something- _godlike good looks, incredible charisma and a killer sense of humor, the ability to make people die with laughter, or maybe all three- before you were entitled to real self-congratulation. Eddie's gloating made Joker want to say something- anything- to wipe that smirk off his face.

And then he remembered that was probably exactly what the Riddler wanted. The realization made him start to laugh- the thought of poor little Eddie trying to manipulate the Joker... well... it was just _rich. _

"All right, Eddie m'friend," he said. "I'll help you get started. Once upon a _time..."_

* * *

><p>Many thanks to my reviewers, and especially the eagle-eyed Leonca, who picked out some embarrassing typos in the last chapter.<p>

...And the shout-out in this chapter is too obvious to credit. Guess which comic I re-read this week?


	4. Riddle Me This

"AHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHA!"

The Joker's maniacal laughter rang out through the shadowy halls of Arkham Asylum as four orderlies fought to keep him strapped to the gurney. It was nothing special- merely the biannual vaccine and physical examination- but somehow, Joker managed to pull off a good portion of his escapes en route to various cells. After dutifully sticking out his tongue, standing on tippy-toe for the height measurement, and pantsing the elderly Dr. Shelby, the Joker had broken free of his restraints and fled laughing down the corridors, orderlies chasing him like some bizarre reenactment of _The Three Stooges. _He'd made it to the outer door, jumping over the New Arrivals desk and kissing the terrified nurse on the lips, still laughing. Then the orderlies had caught up with him.

The New Arrivals nurse cowered against one corner, shivering and rubbing a hand reflexively over her mouth. She could have been hurt... she could have been _killed! _Even with the bonus that came with the night shift, this job definitely didn't pay enough.

"Excuse me, nurse?"

The nurse looked up- and immediately let out a weary sigh. It was going to be one of those nights. The Dark Knight towered over her, eyes glowing eerily from under that black cowl. One gloved hand rested easily on the desk; the other was clenched about collar of a very unconscious man... who happened to be wearing a light green coat adorned with purple question marks, a green bowler hat, and a crooked lavender domino mask. It was another one of _them._

"Why _helllloooo _there, Batsy!" called the Joker. "Come to, uh, check yourself_ in_? About time- they've saved a cell here _just for you!" _Giggling madly, he waggled his ears and blew a loud raspberry at Batman before the orderlies wheeled him through the swinging doors and out of sight. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

The green-suited man chose that moment to return to consciousness. He moaned, lifted one purple-gloved hand to his head, and opened his eyes.

"What hit me?" he groaned. Then, eyes widening, "Arkham Asylum? You have _got _to be kidding me."

Ignoring him, the nurse reached into a drawer for the check-in form and turned to Batman.

"I suppose you'll be signing him in, sir?" she said. Batman took the clipboard from her without a word.

"No! This is ridiculous!" the man protested, straightening himself up with the support of the desk. "Batman, be reasonable! _You_ know, and _I_ know, that I'm _not_ crazy! I'm not!" Frigid silence from Batman. "Give me one good reason why I should be..." he made a wide motion of disgust, "here."

"When you had Mockridge in your power, you fully intended to kill him," Batman said, not taking his eyes from the form. "You could have done it anytime, knowing I would hunt you down and match wits with you regardless, Nigma. But instead, you put him through the maze, and trapped him at the end."

"So?" Nigma blustered. "That proves nothing!"

"And then later, when you made your getaway," continued Batman, scribbling a large and elaborate signature at the bottom of the form, "you almost made it, you know. Broadcasting your taunts from an undisclosed location, disappearing before I even had a chance to find you... it was a stroke of masterwork. Until you sent me this."

He produced a scrap of paper and waved it before Nigma's dismayed face.

"'Thanks for playing, but I'm taking it easy in the diamond city'- or _lounging _in the _ice berg._ At first, I suspected one of your insane deathtraps and prepared accordingly. But there never was a trap, was there? Even after you got away clean, you still _had_ to advertise your whereabouts, just like you _had_ to put Mockridge to the test before tying him up," Batman said. "And that, Edward Nigma, is called a _compulsion."_

"That's ridiculous!" Nigma shouted. "It's called a _riddle! _I never thought-"

"I would solve it? Come on, Nigma. I'm not _stupid."_

"But I- I- aaargh!" Edward Nigma clenched his fists in frustration. "You're _impossible!"_

Batman merely narrowed his eyes and turned away to the nurse.

"Here's the form. I'd recommend placing him in a high-security cell for observation," he said.

"Thank you," the nurse replied. She glanced at the form- _Edward Nigma, a.k.a. The Riddler- _and motioned to the orderlies who were filtering back into the room, still breathing heavily from their tussle with the Joker. "Please escort Mr. Nigma to a high-security cell, and notify Dr. Leland."

"Wait! Hang on a minute! Aren't you going to tell them I'm not crazy?" Nigma protested, edging away from the orderlies.

Batman turned back at this, and bestowed one of his rare smiles on the dismayed Riddler.

"Unlike you, I don't tell lies, Nigma," he retorted, and headed for the outside door.

The Riddler ground his teeth together angrily as the orderlies led him through the other door, the one that led to Arkham's cells.

* * *

><p>Dr. Joan Leland hurried down the long hall, black hair bouncing with every step she took. Tonight seemed to hold no end of surprises- first the Joker's break-out, and now, apparently, the arrival of a new "high-profile" patient. She'd glanced over Batman's form, and learned that the man's name was Edward Nigma, he had formerly worked as a games designer for Competitron- now owned by Bruce Wayne- and was currently in Arkham for self-endangerment and irrational acts of revenge. It told none of the important things- the man's medical history, his personality, his psychological makeup, his IQ... or why Batman had recommended he be housed in a high-security cell. Rounding the final corner of Cellblock C, Dr. Leland stopped at the door and waited for the orderly to open it. She'd perform a basic psychological interview and assessment tonight before remanding him to the Observational Wing first thing the next morning. If he was indeed a "Rogue," it was imperative that they establish a behavorial pattern in order to facilitate treatment.<p>

As the door swung open, Dr. Leland was surprised to see the man sitting calmly on the thin Arkham mattress and regarding her with a deeply unimpressed look. He was still wearing the clothes he'd come in with, but had removed his mask and was playing with it in his hands. There was dark purplish bruising on the left side of his face, but he seemed largely unaware of it, quirking an eyebrow as she entered the room.

"Good evening, Mr. Nigma," Dr. Leland said courteously.

"I'd say the same, but," a wry smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, "I _don't _tell lies, unlike my caped counterpart. It would be utterly untrue, not to mention plain stupid, to pretend that I like or need to be here."

"Really," Dr. Leland said.

The Riddler sniffed.

"Are you normally this stupid, or is today a special occasion?" he snapped. "Riddle me this: why do the inmates call Arkham the fiddler's hotel?"

"I... what?" Leland glanced at him, thrown off balance.

Nigma heaved an exaggerated sigh. Tossing the mask aside, he stood up to face the doctor with a smirk.

"Too hard?" he said. "Would you like something _easier? _How about an old favorite- what's black and white and red all over?_"_

Dr. Leland raised an eyebrow.

"There are several answers," she replied. "A newspaper, a panda with jelly on its hand, or a skunk with a diaper rash. You tell me which one."

Nigma shook his head with a conscending laugh.

"Good try. But the real answer is Two-Face after he's had a meeting with the Batman."

"Tell me, Edward," Dr. Leland broke in, "why these riddles? What do they mean to you?"

For a moment, the red-headed man looked almost offended.

"Cannot be stretched, cannot be sold, cannot be bought, cannot grow old. Easily hidden, easily broken, rarely sought and rarely spoken. What is it?"

Dr. Leland shook her head. Classic narcissist, eager for attention to reinforce his superior self-image. The Riddler _needed _attention.

"I don't know."

"Clearly. But if you were smarter, you might see farther," the Riddler sniffed. Then, with a wicked smile, "But here's an easy one. What question can you never truthfully answer 'yes' to?"

"I've heard this one before," Dr. Leland replied. "It's, 'Are you sleeping?'"

"Close," the Riddler said. He turned away, running a gloved finger over the brim of his hand, smile darkening. "The correct answer is 'Are you dead?'"

"Is that a threat?" Dr. Leland asked after a moment.

"Of course not, doctor! One would have to be severely paranoid to read threats into harmless riddles!" Nigma replied, the smile never leaving his face.

"All right," Dr. Leland said, nervously, "Let's move on to the basic psychological assessment."

"Please," Nigma interrupted, rolling his eyes. "This is completely unnecessary."

"Perhaps," Dr. Leland said. "Is there any history of mental illness in your family?"

"Unless you count complete and utter stupidity, no," Nigma grunted. "Is there a point to this?"

"Have you ever experienced any of the following: insomnia, significant mood changes within a short period of time, the inability to speak or move, sudden feelings of dread or-"

"Don't insult me. I'm not crazy, doctor. Believe me, if I were... I'd know."

"Do you know your IQ?"

"Of course. 192."

Dr. Leland did a double-take.

"192?"

"Yes. That's unweighted on a static scale..." Edward smiled and uncrossed his arms. "Surprised?"

"You'll be willing to take a standard IQ test provided by the asylum?" Dr. Leland repeated, skeptical. Definitely a narcissist.

"Of course, doctor. Though I'm a bit hurt you wouldn't believe me." Nigma frowned at her, turning away. "What's sometimes white and always wrong, can crush the weak and hurt the strong, can build up love and tear it down, can bring a smile, but more often a frown... and will never come from Edward Nigma?"

Dr. Leland took a moment to mull that over.

"A lie?"

"Very good, doctor!" His tone was all condescending encouragment.

"But why not?" she asked, fascinated. "If you won't tell lies, surely you'll answer that..."

Almost immediately, his expression darkened again.

"What begins but has no end? What is the ending of all that begins?" he snapped, his tone bordering on ominous. "Just remember, doctor... I'm the one who asks the riddles."

Dr. Leland nodded and motioned for the guard to open the door.

"That's all our time for today, Edward. I'll stop by in the morning and see how you're doing, all right?"

"Oh, certainly!" Nigma said, with a malevolent grin. "I'll be waiting."

* * *

><p><em>I don't tell lies- <em>in many comic incarnations, the Riddler's psychosis stems from a compulsive need to tell the truth.

_Why do the inmates call Arkham the fiddler's hotel?- _an adaptation of the Riddler's riddle from an early Detective Comics strip. The answer: Because it's such a vile inn (violin).

_Cannot be stretched, cannot be sold..._-answer: the truth.

_One would have to be severely paranoid to read threats into harmless riddles!- _a line from the Riddler interview tapes in the "Arkham Asylum" video game.

_What begins but has no end? What is the ending of all that begins?-_answer: death.

Many thanks to my reviewers! I meant to have published this earlier (on the heels of the oh-so-short third chapter), but... there's a reason Paul Dini said the Riddler is the hardest Rogue to write.


	5. Campfire Stories

"So _that _was your, er, first time?" Joker snickered. "Let me guess- those nice young men in their clean white coats didn't _believe _you when you said you weren't... BATTY! AHAHAHA, ohohoho, that's a good one!"

"Gets me ev'ry time!" Harley Quinn put in. "Aw, poor Eddie. Let me give you a hug."

"Having finished my tale, I believe it's time for the next _clue," _the Riddler interrupted hastily, shrinking away from Harley Quinn.

"Clue? _Clue? _Oh yes... the new inmate... I remember now." The Joker placed his chin on one pasty hand thoughtfully. "Now, if only I could remember-"

"JOKER!"

"All right, all right! Yeesh, Eddie! Don't get your knickers in a twist! They say..." Joker lowered his voice dramatically and shifted his eyes back and forth very quickly. "...he's almost as dangerous as the Bat himself!" He let out a shocked gasp, clutched his chest, and fell to the ground in a ridiculous swooning imitation.

Nigma rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ooh! Ooh! But I'm ready for the next story!" The Joker leaped back up, his face the picture of eager excitement. "Oh, _come on, _you guys! You've got to admit this is fun!"

There was a beat of silence as all the Rogues traded glances. Joker threw his hands up.

"Fine, be that way! I'll, uh, pick next. How about you, Hatter?"

Jervis Tetch gulped and looked up quickly.

"Me?"

"Of course, old chum! Why not... give the chappies a bit o' storytellin'?" the Joker said, throwing an arm around the Hatter's shoulders. Tetch shifted uncomfortably.

"I-I don't know..."

The Joker's smile abruptly switched directions, and he leaned in close to Tetch's face, glaring.

"All right!" The Mad Hatter threw up his hands in defeat and heaved a deep sigh. "Mine is a long and sad tale..."


	6. Alice's Evidence

_"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,  
>"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.<br>See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!  
>They are waiting on the shingle- will you come and join the dance?<br>Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, will you join the dance?  
>Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, wo'n't you join the dance?<em>

_"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be  
>When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!"<br>__But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance-  
>Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.<br>Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.  
>Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.<em>

With a final sobbing cry, the Mock Turtle ended his song and turned on his side, flapping a scaly fin piteously at the Mad Hatter.

"Once," he said at last, with a deep sigh, "I was a Real Turtle. When we were little-" he sniffed back a little sob- "and we went to school in the sea... But it's no use _now, _you know. And really, you might have guessed."

"Might have guessed what?" the Hatter asked.

The Mock Turtle sighed gloomily.

_"Prison," _he said. "The trial doesn't even begin till next Wednesday; and of course the crime comes last of all."

"But supposing I never commit the crime?" queried the Hatter.

But the Mock Turtle merely burst out weeping and rolled sideways into the brine, waving a flipper in farewell as the tide began to recede.

"Good-bye!" he called out, his voice growing fainter and fainter. "Good-bye! Shall I see you at the tea? Shall I..." but he had got so far out by this time that his voice disappeared, and so did he.

Slowly, the fog began to clear from Jervis' mind. He groaned and sat up slowly, placing a hand to his head.

"Where am I?" he muttered, blinking owlishly.

**"Arkham."**

Tetch froze. He knew that voice. All of Gotham knew that voice... instinctively, he scrabbled backwards until his back stopped against something hard and cold with a thump. Shaking slightly, he looked up to see that he had backed straight into a couch- a couch that held former D.A. Harvey Dent and a skinny, bored-looking inmate holding the TV remote. Dent turned slightly to look at Tetch, clearly unimpressed.

**"Finally woke up, did you? Bet you'll wish you hadn't," **Two-Face rasped.

He flipped his coin, caught it again, and sighed.

**"Consider yourself lucky... for now."**

Without another word, the coin-flipping mob boss stood up and stalked over to- Tetch blanched- the hulking guard at the door. He could hear Dent's gravelly voice asking to be returned to his cell.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no..." Jervis shook his head. "This can't be... I'm not really..."

"Supposed to be here?" the other inmate interrupted. "Of course you're not."

Tetch gulped, eyeing the man warily. He was a tall, thin man in his midthirties, with a shock of auburn hair and sharp, intelligent features. Not exactly Jervis' first impression of a mental patient.

"You mean you believe me?" Jervis ventured.

A thin smile split the man's face.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "I was referring to your denial. A natural response to frightening stimuli, especially after your shock... speaking of which, Nigma owes me five dollars. He didn't think you'd snap out of it."

"Err... about that," Jervis began nervously.

The man waved a hand and scoffed.

"How long have you been here? A little over a week. Dr. Leland- one of the less incompetent fools running this wretched hospital- put you in the rec room for interaction. Joker drew mustaches on your face the first day-" Jervis' hand went to his cheek- "but I believe the orderlies washed it off by now." The thin man shifted himself on the couch. "So tell me... Jervis Tetch... besides the obvious autophobia and monophobia, perhaps a touch of isolophobia as well... what _do_ you fear?"

"What do I..." Jervis was dumbstruck. Then, it clicked. "You- you're-"

"Dr. Jonathan Crane," the man nodded, with a dark smirk. "Though you might prefer... **Scarecrow."** Just as quickly, the dark look was gone, and he turned back to the television with a bored shrug. "Do yourself a favor and stay away from the masks, Tetch. That is... if you want to get out of Arkham alive."

* * *

><p>Dr. Crane's point was driven home two hours later, when Harley Quinn happened to pass the Joker in the corridor on her way back from solitary. Instantly, the harlequin began screaming and begging forgiveness for having missed Valentine's Day. The Joker threw back his head and laughed, sending Jervis shuddering into the distant corner of his cell, and replied,<p>

"That's okay, Pooh. We can have our own little party... right NOW!"

Within minutes, four guards were sprawled out on the ground, out cold, and the asylum was filled with flashing red panic lights and the wailing of alarm bells. The Joker and Harley ran down the corridor, laughing hysterically, and the other inmates joined in the din with cheers, shouts, threats, laughter... Jervis retreated even further into his cell and covered his face.

_Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimbol in the wabe..._

Another high, psychotic laugh echoed down the corridor. Apparently, Joker had returned.

"All right, folks! Let's get this party _started! _Who's first?"

_All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe... _Jervis closed his eyes and focused on the words of the poem. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he wasn't here- that he was at home, quietly seated in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea, re-reading one of Lewis Carroll's classic works...

"Croccers? Good idea! I hear your favorite guard is still lurking around the infirmary. Scarechum, old pal! Brought this along _just for you! _Hey, riddle me this, Eddie: what's white and red and full of stab wounds? AHAHAHAHA!"

But he couldn't. He could not, _would not, could not, would not, would not_ go back to his lonely existance in the old brownstone... and what good was Wonderland without Alice?

"Say please, Pammy! What's that, you want to kiss me? Oh, you devil! Oh, fine, fine... go spruce up the garden or something. Arnie m'friend... I heard Scarface is looking for your near Dr. Bartholomew's office. Aaaaand Harvey. Good to see ya both lookin' so good. Do me a favor and spring Freezy on your way out, wouldya?"

Joker's voice was getting closer and closer. Jervis forced himself to continue, blocking out the sounds from the hallway.

_Beware the Jabberwock, my son, the jaws the bite, the claws that-_

CLICK. Jervis froze. The door was opening... someone was coming into his cell. He closed his eyes and rushed through the poem in his mind, running it over and over like a liturgy. _Beware the Jubjub bird and shun the frumious Bandersnatch he took his vorpal sword in hand longtime his manxome foe he sought-_

"Hey there... uh... Jervis. Jervis! What a name! I _love _it!"

To Jervis' great horror, he felt a hand tossed around his shoulders. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. It was the Joker.

"You're the new fish here, hmmm?" Joker asked, looking Jervis up and down. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Lousy suit, really, _lou-sy! _Grey _really _isn't one of your colors... but I digress. Allow me introduce myself." He placed a gloved hand on his chest. "The Joker, J-O-K-E-R, Clown Prince of Crime, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera..." He stopped, opening one eye menacingly. "You're not clapping."

Hastily, Jervis began to applaud. The Joker made a deep bow, then straightened up and replaced his arm around Tetch's neck.

"You're the, uh... let me see. Oh, I know! The _Mad Hatter. _I saw you in the papers, see. One of the helpful little scoutboys lent it to me." He chuckled, shaking his head as if in fond recollection. "Y'know, I really think we're going to be good buddies, don't you? I mean, this whole Alice thing... talk about hilarious! It's comedy gold!"

"Uh... ah... I..." Jervis stammered.

"What's that? You don't think so? You don't _get the joke?" _the Joker threw his hands up in mock dismay. "Oh, but you've got to admit it's at least funny! I mean, there you are, the stalwart lover, all ready to defend her- you _were _fight the Bat for her, you know- ready to break every rule in the _book _and possibly end up, well, in jail or _here... _all to make a Wonderland for your little Alice." Joker sighed, batting his eyelashes sweetly. "But then- AHAHAHAHA!- then Batsy crashes the party and puts your plan on its head, and she- she takes off her little hat control thingummy and sees everything laid out, everything you've done for her... and she throws you over! I _love _it! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

Throughout the speech, Jervis' brow had grown darker and darker. With a growl, he jerked his shoulder out of the Joker's grasp.

"I fail to see the humor," he snapped viciously.

The Joker stopped, his face the picture of comical surprise.

"Oh, but don't you get it? Batman stops everything- Alice would rather have some wage slave in a monkey suit- you end up in Arkham-" he stopped, giving Jervis a cunning look. "But don't you see? The girl's as screwloose as you are. Or more, actually. All _you _did was..." he tipped his head back, eyes searching the ceiling for the right words, "try to express your love in an unorthodox manner? But it's all lost on her! And the Bat! Oh, the _Bat! _You're a dangerous criminal because you played dress-up in the park! But that's how it is in Gotham... you break the status quo one little time, and what does that make you? _Mad _as a _hatter!"_

The Joker threw back his head and laughed, while Jervis turned pale.

"Y'see, Eddie boy has a good point," the clown said, playfully punching the Englishman in the shoulder. "Everyone goes along with Battyman's midnight maraudings _why? _Because they like it! That's the only reason! What does Batman do on an average night, hmmmm? I mean, apart from a grown man dressing like a rodent, he swings around town like Tarzan, blows holes in buildings right and left, punches unsuspecting clowns in the face, and speeds around Gotham at about two hundred miles an hour! Talk about destructive behavior! Whereas people like me- people like _you- _just want to have a little fun and games! But who does the police side with? Who do the people side with? Who does _Alice _side with?"

Jervis shuddered uncontrollably, and he tipped sideways like a drunken man. He shook his head dazedly. It couldn't be... it _couldn't... _

"Which is why I say... who cares!" the Joker broke in exuberantly. "Everything's completely arbitrary in the first place! You might as well flip a _coin!_ But maybe that's not your style... what do you say, old chum?"

Jervis drew in a deep breath and swallowed hard.

"I... I want my hat," he whispered.

The Joker's smile widened enormously

"Now you're talking," he grinned. "Let's go get it."

And Jervis found himself propelled out of the cell and down the corridor towards an unfamiliar metal door, arm-in-arm with Gotham's most dangerous criminal. Oddly enough, he did not feel frightened. In fact, he didn't think he felt at all.

The Joker pulled him through the door, down a long, darkened hallway full of bloody guards, and into a small room filled with shelves. With a wink, he let go of Jervis' arm, bent over to one shelf, and began to rummage through a cardboard box. Three socks, a rubber chicken, a deck of cards, and a question-mark-shaped pencil sharpener flew past Jervis' face. He hardly noticed.

"Here we are! One spiffin' top hat, extra cheese!" Joker thrust it into Jervis' hands and slapped the Englishman on the back. "Well, old bean, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got things to do, jokes to crack, people to kill! I'll be seeing you around. Just remember... have _fun!"_

With a final wave good-bye and a last maniacal laugh, the homicidal clown was off, leaving Jervis alone in the darkened room. Or so he thought. As soon as the Joker was out of a sight, a dark, bony shadow detached itself from one of the shelves and walked over to him, adjusting something on one of its hands. Jervis recognized the figure this time- he'd seen the news broadcast when Scarecrow was first brought in. But despite the villain's notorious reputation, and the demonic stitched face leering at him from under the battered felt hat, Jervis found himself surprisingly unafraid.

**"Tetch," **the straw man rasped. **"Teaming up with the Joker already? If you'll forgive the expression... you must be _mad."_**

Jervis drew in a long, shuddering breath and turned to face the Scarecrow, settling the hat firmly atop his head.

"This is Gotham City, Dr. Crane," he said, a wide, vacant smile spreading across his face. "We're all mad here."

* * *

><p>The poem at the beginning is two-thirds of Carroll's "Lobster Quadrille" from "Alice in Wonderland." Much of the Mock Turtle's dialogue is from the same source (as well as "Through the Looking Glass").<p>

_"I hear your favorite guard is still lurking around the infirmary"- _A nod to the comics' security chief Aaron Cash, who has his hand bitten off by Killer Croc and replaces it with a metal hook. He appeared in the first chapter but I forgot to credit him.

_"Now you're talking"- _Joker's line from "The Dark Knight" after Harvey's villainous breakdown. Joker's Hannibal Lecture in this chapter is pretty much reflective of TDK Joker's philosophy. I was trying to think of a way to get Tetch from "gentle scientist w/Lewis Carroll obsession" (a la "Mad as a Hatter" and "Perchance to Dream") to the insane criminal mastermind of "The Worry Men", "Trial", and the Batman comics.


	7. How Doth the Little Crocodile

"...and that's when I first went through the looking glass," Jervis ended quietly.

"Oh, yes," the Joker grinned, throwing an arm around the Hatter's shoulders. "I _do _remember that now. We had quite the time, eh, Jervis ol' buddy?"

And the Joker knuckled his fist and gave the unhappy man a hard noogie.

"But moving right along- oh yes, Eddie, I do remember now. Your CLUE!" Joker broke out into maniacal laughter. "Ivy's met him, Hattie's met him, and I think Scarechum might've... oh, and of course Harley."

"Yay!" Harley cheered, jumping into the air. Joker rolled his eyes and turned away.

"And, of course, _me! _He fought the Bat, you know... don't know if he won or not. I blame the blood loss. Or was it the laughing gas? I never can remember. But enough clues!" he said. "I want a volunteer." Joker folded his arms and scowled at the assembled rogues. No one moved. "Croccers, old pal! You're on!"

"Me?" Killer Croc said. "Well, all right. But it's not very long..."

"Oh, pshaw," the Joker said, waving it off. "sPeAK aWaY olD cHaP."

"Okay," began Croc. "It all started right after Batman sent me up the river for trying to frame Harvey Bullock."

"Oooh," Joker grinned. "Sounds interesting. Tell me more."

"They were going to put me in prison, but it didn't work out," Croc said, flexing his muscles experimentally. "The bars were too weak. And some of the guards decided to take things out on me and... withhold food."

Joker winced exaggeratedly.

"Eeurgh."

"What can I say? I got hungry. That's when they transferred me here," the reptilian villain continued. "Said the docs would talk to me, but we all know it's mainly for the chains. And the walls..."

"So tell us exactly what happened when you arrived," Joker prodded.

"Well..." Croc paused to think. "They drugged me up and carried me into the cell, I guess. Then, when I woke up, I was _really angry. _I started pounding on the glass front and calling for the doctors. They all came running down down the hallway, but it was too late. I smashed my way free and started running down the hallway towards freedom. They tried to stop me with a dart, but I just shrugged it off. I got the bright idea to smash through the wall instead of trying to break down the metal door, and ended up right in the, uh... the door room."

"Lobby," Harley supplied.

"Yeah, the lobby! They all came swarming out, but it was too late! I was headed for the door, headed for the outside. Then Cash stepped out and aimed a gun at me. He was the only thing between me and freedom... and it was either him or me. I summoned all my strength..." Killer Croc's massive chest expanded, and his clenched his scaly hands into fists to demonstrate. "And I threw a rock at him!"

There was a brief moment of silence. Then the Joker burst into high-pitched, psychotic laughter.

"AHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHA! Croccers," the clown gasped, doubled over with mirth, "I love a good joke!"

**"Typical," **Harvey Dent growled, flipping his coin.

"Ohohohoho, ahahahaha, that's too good." Joker wiped tears out of his eyes. "Y'see, Croccers, _this_ is why I love you."

"Hey!" Harley Quinn protested.

"But seriously now," the Joker said, ignoring Harley, "who wants to go next? I did give you two clues, after all, and-"

"Me! Me! Pick me!" Harley yelled, waving her hand.

"Not you!" snapped the Joker. "I was here when you arrived in Arkham, remember?"

"Aw, but you weren't here for my very _first _time, Puddin'," Harley said, smiling hopefully. "Please let me tell! I'll make it happy and funny and show everyone how wonderful you are!"

"Mmm... what can I say, you make a strong case," the Joker said, mollified. "All right, ladies and gents, quiet in the audience please. Oh, and Pammy, you're next."

Pamela Isely snorted and crossed her arms.

"In your dreams, clown," she snapped.

"Ah-ha-ha-hem." Harley cleared her throat. "Once upon a time, a long, long time ago..."

* * *

><p>As you can see, this story draws heavily from "Almost Got 'Im."<p>

Many thanks to the faithful reviewers!


	8. Romance, by Harlequin

Joan Leland sat quietly at her desk, filling out paperwork. Somehow, the pharmaceutical supply department had managed to lose or misplace nearly twenty percent of this month's drug supply- and the new director, Dr. Bartholomew, refused to hear a word against the department. Corruption reached deep in Gotham City, even in hospitals. The only thing Leland could do was requisition more supplies from the manufacturer, and that meant several hours of form filling and executive signing. She didn't mind, however; it gave her a chance to recharge from a long day of therapy with Gotham's Most Wanted and relax in the peace and quiet of her private office. Joan sighed and reached for the next form.

BANG! The door burst open- Joan cringed to think what it must have done to her wall- to admit one of the orderlies.

"Dr. Leland, come quick!" he shouted. "It's an emergency!"

With a heavy sigh, Leland removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Who is it this time? Victor Fries? Jonathan Crane? The Joker?"

"It's..." the orderly's wide eyes darted to the side, and he swallowed. "It's Dr. Quinzelle. The Batman just dragged her into the main office, and she's putting up a fight."

Dr. Leland's eyes widened.

"I'm on my way," she breathed, snatching up her glasses and heading for the door.

A little under three months ago, Dr. Harleen Quinzelle had left the Asylum under... mysterious circumstances... taking a then-injured Joker with her. By all accounts, she had then become his... sidekick? Flunky? Accomplice?- in a series of comedic crimes, including an attack on Police Commissioner Gordon during a banquet in his honor. But before that, she had been Dr. Leland's protege, the driven young intern with a stellar record who was going to make a name for herself in Arkham Asylum. Rather ironically, she had succeeded- and if Batman really had brought her back... Leland shook her head. This was not a meeting she looked forward to.

Rounding a gothic corner, Dr. Leland left the corridor of the secure wing and entered the main lobby. Batman was just handing the clipboard to the nurse with a stony face; behind him, three orderlies struggled with a young, athletic, black-and-red-clad woman in clown makeup. Dr. Leland stopped and gaped.

"-wipe that dirty grin right off your lips, ya big bully!" Dr. Quinzelle screamed, her voice comically angry and high-pitched. "Ya think you're so big, just wait till my Puddin' gets his hand on you, ya big yella-bellied slime-suckin' creep!"

"Harleen!" Dr. Leland burst out, in terrible tones. "What is wrong with you?"

"Aw, you shuddup," Dr. Quinzelle sighed, rolling her eyes. "What d'you know, anyway? Let go- let go of me, ya big lummox! Hands off the merchandise!"

Dr. Leland froze, closed her eyes... _Think of her as a patient, not as a doctor. Think of her as a patient, not as a doctor._

"Harleen," she said again. "Please stop... please... We won't use force if we don't have to, but you have to cooperate with us."

"But I don't _wanna!" _Dr. Quinzelle- Harley- sounded like a preschooler being sent to bed early. "I wanna go back out an- an' go run around the city at night, an' eat ice cream in the park, an' set somethin' on fire, an', an', an' be with Mr. _Jaaaay!"_

And Harleen Quinzelle burst into tears. Batman glanced over his shoulder with a look that might have been disgust, pity, or neither one.

"I would recommend keeping her away from the Joker," he said. "With luck and time, she may rehabilitated."

"WAAAAAH! WAHAHAAAAAA!" Harleen wailed. "I don't wanna go to Arkham! I want Mr. JAAAAAAY!"

Joan Leland took control of the situation, her professional skills finally kicking in.

"All right, take her to the infirmary and get her cleaned up," she directed the orderlies holding Harleen. "You, go tell Nurse Smith to prepare one of the observation rooms. And Batman, thank you for-" she blinked. The Dark Knight had slipped out. "Bringing her back," she finished softly.

* * *

><p>"All right, Dr. Quinzelle-"<p>

"_That's _not my name!" Harley interrupted, crossing her arms and pouting at Dr. Leland. "Call me Harley Quinn!"

"All right," Dr. Leland said, swallowing a lump. "Harley, I see here that Batman... ah... brought you in for attempting to set fire to Zoning Commissioner Stanley Zulichianno's office. Care to tell me why you did that?"

Harley shrugged and slumped over onto her back, hair dangling off the bed. They'd scrubbed the makeup off to cries of "Owie! Owie! Owie!" and three of the largest nurses had had the challenge of their careers getting her to change into asylum grey, but she'd insisted on keeping the hair pigtailed. After the twenty-minute tussle, the nurses were in no mood to argue.

"I dunno," Harley said innocently. "Thought it sounded like fun. Plus, the guy needs ta lighten up, ya know?"

"Harley," Dr. Leland said. "You can talk to me. Did the Joker put you up to this?"

"Yep!" the woman replied light-heartedly. "Hey, doc, ya got any bubblegum? I'm hungry... and bored... and lonely..."

"And your attack on Batman with a..." Joan glanced at her notes. "...bazooka..." She shook her head. That had to be wrong.

"I love bazookas!" Harley cheered. "An' so does Mr. J. Ya should see mine..." she pantomimed holding a gun and fired it. "Bazowie! You're dead!"

"But why?" persisted Dr. Leland, feeling slightly foolish at the ridiculous nature of her next question. "Why did you attack Batman with a bazooka?"

"Cause he's a big bad grumpy meanie with an ugly mug," Harley returned, scowling. "He's a bully! Bam! Pow! All my Puddin' wanted ta do was make a few people laugh. Is that so bad? But noooooo, the Batman has ta step in an' ruin everything." She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes dangerously. "He's ruining my life! Our lives! Puttin' a damper on what should be the _hottest_ show in town! The Joker and Harley Quinn! Clown Prince and Prin_cess _of Crime!"

"Harley!"

But there was no stopping Harley Quinn. Sitting up, she puffed out her chest proudly and stuck her nose in the air.

"My Puddin' loves me, he said he does! An' we're gonna be together... forever... like Bonnie and Clyde, like Juliet and Romeo, like Lois and Supes, like Minnie and Mickey, like marshmallows and campfires! We're like..." she sighed, clutching her hands together and batting her eyelashes at the air, "..._made _for each other!"

"Harley, this report says the Joker physically _threw_ you out of the back of a moving vehicle onto the Batmobile," Dr. Leland said. "How on earth can you still say he loves you?"

"Humph! Every relationship has a few tiffs now an' then," Harley sniffed. "Yer a doctor- ya should know this already! Besides, I was askin' for it."

Dr. Leland paused. She didn't like the sound of that.

"Asking for it," she repeated slowly.

"By standin' too close ta the back of the truck, of course!" Harley giggled. "'Sides, Mistah J needed a distraction. Maybe he coulda asked first, but, hey," she shrugged, "'s not like it would have made much a difference!"

"So you're saying you would have jumped out of the car for him?" Leland queried.

"Right-a-rooney!" sang Harley- and shouted with laughter at the dumbfounded expression on Dr. Leland's face. "Aw, c'mon, it's not like I would've gotten hurt or anything! Olympic gymnast, remember?" She flexed an arm athletically. "An' even if I had, it would've been worth it... just ta see the look on Batsy's face!"

She pulled an exaggerated look of horror and surprise and burst out laughing.

"It was hilarious!"

"Mm-hm," Dr. Leland nodded. "I'm sure it was. Now Harley- I need you to focus. Have you been having any... hallucinations? Insomnia?"

"Sudden changes in mood, delusions of grandeur, overpowering urge to perform a certain action, or trouble registering time?" Harley giggled. "That's a big nope-a-roo! I'm not crazy- okay, scratch that. I'm not _mentally ill- _just crazy with love for my beautiful, wonderful, marvelous, adoring, astoundin' Puddin'! I'd say don't worry, there's plenty of wonderful men out there for you, but there's nobody- _nobody- _as lovin' and loyal as my Puddin' is ta me! He's... he's absolutely _perfect!_"

And Harley tipped over onto the bed, overcome by dreamy romanticism.

"Right..." Dr. Leland murmured, her heart dropping a little lower. "Listen, Harley, I appreciate your being so... open... with me. We're going to keep you here for the night, and I'll be back to check on you in the morning, all right?"

"A-okay by me!" Harley grinned. "Ooh, ooh, an' can I have that cereal with the little stars in it for breakfast? Can I, can I? I'll be good, I promise! No fights er anything, scout's honor!" She held up two fingers in a cockeyed salute. "I love that cereal..." Harley sighed dreamily. "I used ta eat it with... Mistah Jay... an' we'd pick out the letters 'n' spell our names in marshmallows..." She appeared to be blinking back tears. "I think it'll be good for me, ya know, help me keep up my spirits till Mistah J comes back fer me. Please, doc? Please please please?"

Dr. Leland sighed, dropping her eyes to the ground.

"Sure, Harley," she said sadly. "You can have the cereal with the stars in it."

"YAAAAAY! You're the bestest!"

Dr. Leland closed the door behind her as Harley continued to celebrate.

* * *

><p>Many, many thanks for the kind reviews!<p>

Lexical Item: KNO3 + fire = BOOM! (Seriously, though, I am a pyrotechnics enthusiast in my spare time. Congrats on picking up on that!)


	9. Divided We Stand

"...and that was _my _first time in Arkham!" Harley ended proudly. "Well, as an inmate."

Poison Ivy snorted.

"And you're actually _proud _of that? Maybe 'Mistah Jay' is starting to rub off on you after all!"

"Oh, don't look so angry, Pammy," the Joker sighed. "I swear I just found her like that. Well, except for the makeup and all. Ya gotta admit, Lettuce Head, Harley-pie's been a lot _happier _since she started hanging with me! Isn't that right, sugar bun?"

Harley melted into his arms, sighing in pleasure as Joker planted a small kiss on the end of her nose. Pamela Isley crossed her arms and glared at the "happy" pair.

"You're sick, clown."

"Has it really taken you that long to notice?" Joker smirked. "Oh- and that reminds me. You're telling your story next! Aw, come on, Pammy. You can trust me. I'm on the _level. _What was it like when you were dragged in? Dish the dirt!"

"We'll never tell," Harley interjected.

"Cross our hearts and hope to..." the Joker was cut off by an angry snarl from Poison Ivy. "Ew. Nasty temper, that one. Fine body, but... tch, tch, tch, a bit _too_ much spunk, if you ask me."

"THAT'S IT!"

Poison Ivy's eyes were shooting green beams of fury as she launched herself across the circle and started throttling the Joker. The clown choked out a few giggles, tried to backhand her, and found himself flat on his back with his arms trapped under Ivy's knees and a pair of beautiful white hands slowly tightening around his throat.

"Ah! Red! Stoppit!" Harley yelled, frantically scratching at Poison Ivy's arms. "I'm sure this is all just a silly ol' misunderstanding and we can work it out tagether! Come on! _Let- _GO!"

Harley's desperate attack on Ivy's wrists finally yielded some result, as the villainous villainess's grip slipped about half an inch. The Joker sucked in air and-

"HAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHA! **HAHAHAHAHAHA!**"

"Eat DEATH, Joker!" growled Poison Ivy, tightening her grip on the Joker's pasty neck.

"C-c... hahaha... c'mere..." the Joker gargled. "I'll tell you a secRET!" His voice ended abruptly in a sharp wheeze as Poison Ivy cut off the last of his air supply.

"MISTAH JAAAAY!" Harley wailed. Then, "Okay, _Red. _I really didn't wanna have ta do this, but... you leave me no choice!"

Killer Croc and Scarecrow both winced and exchanged glances. The next moment, Poison Ivy went flying across the room and landed in a heap just outside of the circle of light. She glared murderously up at Harley, a hand going to her lip.

"No one, but _no one _messes with Mistah J!" Harley proclaimed, glaring right back at Ivy and still breathing heavily. Then, "Oh, _puddin! _Are you all right?" She dropped to her knees and reached out to the Joker with gentle hands. The Joker coughed, wheezed, and turned narrowing eyes to Harley.

"Harleeey..."

"Yes, puddin', oh you're all right, I was so worried, I-"

BAM!

It was Harley's turn to stagger backwards, a hand going to her face, blue eyes widening in shock.

"_That's_ for not stepping in sooner," the Joker growled. "Maybe next time you'll think to do something before I'm half throttled to death!" Then, turning to the assembled- and very uncomfortable-looking- Rogues Gallery: "What? Comedy _is _timing, you know!"

The Rogues all studiously looked elsewhere as the Joker turned his back on Harley. The harlequin's face had disappeared between her knees, and her shoulders were shaking silently.

"Right, then, laddies!" the Joker announced cheerfully. "It seems we're due another clue, wot? Well, this _fine _young gentleman, who has the distinguished honor of soon becoming our fellow inmate and, well, respected _colleague, _I should say- this dapper young dandy, this paramour of princeliness, is, in fact... a terrible dresser."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"What?" the Hatter burst out. "What did you say?"

"Terrible, just ab-so-lute-ly _drab," _the Joker sighed, shaking his head sadly. "No sense of style whatsoever, unlike _moi. _I mean, this cuckoo actually thinks powder blue and gold paneling are a _good _thing! Not to mention the HUMONGOUS blue lapels on black spandex... he's looney! Wacko! Bonkers! Maybe even batty! I LOVE the guy!"

The Joker's speech disintegrated into psychotic laughter.

"Very interesting..." The Riddler rubbed his chin. "I believe I may safely hazard a guess as to our future... ah... colleague's identity."

The Joker stopped laughing.

"Oh really?"

"Show-off," muttered Croc.

"Do _tell _us, Eddie," the Joker crooned, leaning over and putting a hand on the Riddler's shoulder. "Spoil the secret, break the suspense... let the _cat _out of the _bag. _Go ahead."

The Riddler smirked and opened his mouth to answer.

"Oh, but Eddie, I should tell you," the Joker interrupted. "If you're _wrong..."_

The Riddler's self-satisfaction dropped a smidgen.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Well, if you're _wroooong," _the Joker sing-songed. "Then, Eddie, you and me, we get to have some _fun."_

The Riddler's face was quickly turning pale; he tried to back away from the Joker with no success. Jonathan Crane perked up and leaned in closer, a small, sadistic smile playing around his lips.

"Yep yep yep," the Joker continued, his face inches away from Edward Nigma's, "we'll go all the way back to your childhood. You never had a happy childhood, did you, Eddie? What's that? _No? _I think that's the worst thing I've ever heard. So we'll go someplace fun. Someplace happy! Someplace... we can put a _smile _on that face! I know! THE CIRCUS!"

Everyone in the room jumped.

"Ooh, you'll just _love _it," the Joker grinned. "Riding all the rides... eating all the food... playing all the games... Ring the Bottle, Whack-a-Riddler, Poison-Tipped Joker Darts! Just you and me! Come on, Eddie, don't be such a sad sack! The circus always puts a smile on MY face!"

And, indeed, the grin currently gracing the Joker's face was the stuff of dreams... specifically, nightmares.

"Oh, what's that? You don't _want _to guess? Well, well, that's just fine." The Joker patted the Riddler's arm comfortingly and withdrew. "Now, let me see... who's next? Arnie? Jonny?"

"Pammy" was noticeably absent.

"I'll do it," Jonathan Crane said abruptly. "I may as well get this over with."

"Good boy! Now, everyone, quiet down. Even I want to hear this," the Joker grinned. "Let me see, how does it start? 'Dorothy lived in the midst of the g_reat _Kansas plains...'"

"Very funny," grumbled Crane. "As a matter of fact, it begins with my awakening in an Arkham cell after a brutal fight with the Batman over Gotham."

"And let me guess who won..." If the Joker's grin got any wider, it would likely start ripping flesh. Crane scowled.

"Shut up, Joker."

* * *

><p>Many thanks to the reviewers! And sincere apologies for the long wait... little thing called "writer's block" hit hard.<p> 


	10. The Scarecrow's Story

Lightning cracked across the sky like shatter lines through a windshield. All the twisted stacks and whorls of the storm clouds flashed in piercing brilliance and rumbled out a low, vicious laugh. Filthy rain streaked down in icy needles and splashed up in muddy distortion as Jonathan Crane stumbled through the storm, shuddering with cold and horror. It was an awful night in Gotham City, and he was far from home. All the doctor wanted at the moment was a room with warm lights and dry clothing, someplace safe.

Then he heard it. Jonathan turned slowly, eyes widening. Down the winding throat of the alley, nestled in the very center of the twisting corridor, a door stared back at him. It had an evil look to it, a cheap urine-soaked piece of flaking plywood with rusty hinges and old graffiti. He began backing away slowly, eyes fixed on the handle. Perhaps he had just been imagining the sound.

Then it came again: a rasping or a scratching mixed with a sound like rusty nails being pulled out of old tables. Crane wanted to break and run, to rush off to his comfortable little office under the Chemistry building at Gotham U, but he couldn't move. The noise grew in volume. The door began to shake, and so did Crane. He knew that sound. He had heard it before, many times...

CRACK!

The door burst open in an explosion of black feathers and beaks and hard, needle-sharp talons, and an endless pillar of crows poured from the wall. Crane screamed, and then there was only fear, fear, overwhelming terror, and he was running but didn't know where and there was something _else _behind him now, something worse, he could feel the warm, fetid breath on the back of his calves and the vengeful screams of the birds behind and-

He fell, the ground dissolving away beneath him, and the crows swarmed around him, screeching and tearing, and a shapeless darkness had him by the collar and he fell, he fell to darkness and merciful oblivion.

Dr. Jonathan Crane cracked one eyelid and emitted a groan. His head pulsed with a steady, aching throb, and there was a painfully cold light flickering somewhere overhead. Had he been drinking the night before? If so, he silently vowed never to do so again, at least not whatever he had... been...

These weren't his sheets. Crane's eyes snapped open and he jerked upright, wincing as the blood circulating in his head suddenly found a new obstruction to complain about. This wasn't his bedroom. This wasn't... anyone's bedroom, at least... Crane's fists doubled and he swore quietly and deliberately. The grey cinderblock, the frameless mattress, the unnecessarily high ceiling and tiny, barred window leaking cold daylight... it could only be one place.

At that very moment, the second hand on the big clock in Joan Leland's office completed its sixtieth revolution, the minute hand clicked up from 5:59 to 6:00, and the doors at the far end of the corridor slid open to admit a solitary, unlucky orderly pushing a metal medication cart.

"YOU!" Crane shouted, marching to the glass cellfront despite his pounding headache. "HOW DARE YOU-"

"Relax, man," the orderly grunted. He glanced apathetically at the clipboard hanging outside Crane's door. "Jonathan. The doctors will see you soon."

"Why- you- you-" Crane sputtered. Blinding rage swept through his head, turning the throbbing to painful, intensifying pressure. "Do you even know who I _am?"_

The orderly gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look.

"Not really."

Crane was struck speechless. The pressure in his head was blinding, deafening, and he could faintly hear someone- or something- laughing. He closed his eyes, ground his teeth, and focused on staying calm. Allowing his dark animus full reign would be most unwise, considering his current location; they wouldn't understand, they would label him in every psychological sense of the word, he needed to stay calm...

"-absolutely _hilarious! _You should have seen the look on your face! AHAHAHAHA!"

Crane opened his eyes and shot a venomous glare at the impudent inmate who dared...

In the cell just opposite his own, the city's favorite costumed psychopath grinned and waggled his fingers to the psychologist. Crane groaned and put a hand to his forehead. Absolutely wonderful. Ten minutes into his (mistaken) stay at Arkham, and he'd already managed to attract the attention of "The Joker." The homicidal clown, noticing Crane's frustration, stuck his thumbs in his ears, waggled his fingers, and blew a loud raspberry. Dr. Crane turned sharply and clenched his fists until his nails dug small crescent marks into his skin. Someone would pay dearly for this.

Two hours later, after a disgustingly tasteless breakfast Crane did not deign to touch, accompanied by endless jeers, taunts, and bad puns from the lunatic in the opposite cell, two orderlies came to Crane's cell. Behind them, a petite blonde woman in a white coat walked calmly and confidently to the glass. She wore oversized hornrimmed glasses, a scarlet shirt and black dress slacks, and carried a briefcase. She nodded to one of the orderlies to open the cell and cast a reluctant glance over her shoulder at the Joker. He responded by puckering up and blowing a kiss- to Crane. The woman laughed. Crane fumed with indignity and waited for the door to open. It slid open, and the woman in the white coat stepped inside.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS IMPERTINENCE?" Crane shouted before she could say a word. One of the orderlies took a half step forward and Crane shot him a blazing look of hatred and contempt. "I am Dr. Jonathan Crane, PhD, MD, distinguished professor of psychology, and I will have you know-"

"I know who you are, Dr. Crane," the doctor interrupted. "I took your class on pharmapyschology and the treatment of advanced phobias, remember?"

"Of course," Crane snapped. "You're uh... um..." he flushed, unable to recall her name.

"Harleen Quinzelle," she finished smoothly. "Dr. Harleen Quinzelle." She extended a hand, and Crane noticed that the nails had been painted a flaming scarlet. "I'm still an intern here, but I've been working with Dr. Leland on some of the more high-profile cases."

"What- you- dare- you- think-" sputtered Crane. "What on earth has that got to with me?"

"Simple," Dr. Quinzelle replied frankly. "You were dragged in by... uh... by Batman wearing... this." She opened the briefcase and, to Crane's great mortification, drew out something brown and burlap.

"I'll take that," he snapped, snatching the mask out of her hand. "That's mine."

Dr. Quinzelle regarded him curiously, and he flushed.

"It's a, uh... it's a mask," he amended. "I wear it in my experiments."

"I see," Dr. Quinzelle nodded. "What kind of experiments?"

"They're, uh... they're..." Crane gave the blonde woman a distrustful glance. If she recalled his class, surely she knew about his disgraceful removal from the university and the experiments which precipitated his... resignation. "They're basic stimuli response tests, designed to probe the subject's psyche and expose any latent phobias or even non-phobic rational fears. The mask was, uh, used in a related battery of tests."

"Maybe you could explain it to me," Dr. Quinzelle said. Her eyes kept wandering back towards the cell door.

"Perhaps," Crane muttered. "I doubt you would understand."

"I graduated from Gotham U Medical School magna cum laude, Dr. Crane. I made a 4.0 in every class I took, and that includes yours." Dr. Quinzelle adjusted her glasses and stared at him with bright, guileless blue eyes. "Try me."

Jonathan Crane heaved a deep sigh.

"Fear. Fear is what drives us, what defines us. It forces us into social groups. It compels us to interact with one another both civilly and savagely. It generates love and hate, hope and despair, heroism and villainy. Fear of abandonment is what made you smile at your mother. Fear of rejection is what made you desperate to please your father. Fear of failure is what caused to cheat at school; fear of insignificance is what drove you to ostracize and belittle the geeks and nerds in high school. Hypothetically speaking."

Dr. Quinzelle nodded, discreetly removing a clipboard and pen from the briefcase.

"Your point, professor?"

"Specific behaviors- whether positive or negative, constructive or destructive- find their origin in specific phobias," Crane replied, relaxing the tiniest bit as he warmed to the subject. "For instance, members of an ancient, power-driven, warrior society might collectively suffer from kakorrhaphioiphobia, fear of failure or defeat in battle. Or perhaps 'suffer' is too strong a verb. Many societies consciously instill specific fears in their citizens; for instance, the isolated tribes of northern Irian Jaya engender paraphobia in the male children to avoid crippling genetic defects and force closely related tribes to maintain relative peace."

"So you think society can be shaped through the use of fear?" Dr. Quinzelle asked.

"Eventually, yes. Of course, it will take time and practice. Instilling fear is as much an art as it is a science. The subtle shades of dread, horror, misdoubt, creeping anticipation, and so forth, to the blaze of raw fright and overpowering terror-" he stopped, suddenly self-conscious. "But perhaps I... bore you."

"Not at all," replied Dr. Quinzelle. "So, correct me if I'm wrong, but your mask was used to inspire a specific phobia in your victims? Formidophobia, if I recall my terminology."

Dr. Crane's thin mouth twisted in a grudging smile.

"Exactly. The mask was nothing more than a... an experimental aid, a prop, to further my stated goals."

**_Oh really? _**

Crane froze. Thankfully, Dr. Quinzelle was busy scribbling something on her clipboard and didn't notice the hitch in his breathing.

"If you don't mind me asking," she said, looking up sharply, "why were you wearing the mask when you confronted Batman?"

Dr. Crane swallowed hard. He couldn't just explain... she was merely an intern, she could hardly...

"I, uh, I employed it as a defense mechanism against my own... experimental substance," he replied. "Furthermore, you might be aware that Batman is an extralegal vigilante who does not always discriminate the, ah, unconventional from the merely criminal. The mask, I believe, served as a certain form of social protection. It is, as you can see, a rather... frightening... visage..." Scarecrow was getting louder. Dr. Crane gritted his teeth and focused on remaining calm.

"Mmm. I see. Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Crane. We've pulled your records from your Gotham University dossier, so we don't need to go through any more questions." Dr. Quinzelle got to her feet and flashed him a brilliant smile. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow morning."

"Wait, you're leaving me here?" He scrambled to his feet and took a step forward, brow darkening. "I don't believe you understand-"

"Standard policy. You have a thirty-day observational period. Court orders."

"Observational period? That is absolutely ridiculous!" Crane could feel heat spreading up his neck.

Dr. Quinzelle shrugged.

"Like I said, court orders."

She tossed the clipboard into the case and snapped it shut.

"Do you know who I am? You have no justification- you have no right to keep me here!" Crane shouted. "This is a disgrace! This is an embarrassment, a humiliation! You will regret this day, Miss Quinzelle, you and everyone in Arkham! You can be certain of that!"

But the door was already sliding shut. Dr. Quinzelle tossed her head, sending blonde hair flying, and walked with a careless grace towards the door at the far end of the corridor. Angrily, Crane turned his back sharply on the door and crossed his bony arms.

"Do you know who I am? Do you?" he muttered. "Of course not, you addle-brained buffoons. If you had any semblance of intelligence or true understanding..." he shook his head. "And so, of course, I shall have to teach once again. I shall have to teach you all."


	11. The Show Must Go On

"...and that, I suppose, marked the beginning of my extended and wrongful imprisonment in this wretched institution," Crane concluded, folding his arms over his narrow chest. "Fools. To think that I, myself a talented psychologist, could even receive their pitiful help."

"Oh, of _course,_" the Joker nodded understandingly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Dr. Crane shot him a venomous glance.

"But _come on, _kiddies, that's life," Joker grinned. "You try making one little joke in public and WHAMMO! the Bat comes down on you like a load of bricks! And then they drag you away and lock you up for life in the looney bin..." he heaved a dramatic sigh and placed on hand on his forehead. "All because the world doesn't understand a little creative comedy." Joker shook his head. "Shameful, really."

"Aw, Puddin..." Harley sniffled. Slowly, carefully, she wobbled to her knees and wrapped tentative arms around the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime rewarded this with a large and very cheesy smile. Harley practically melted.

"Disgusting," Poison Ivy muttered.

"Don't pay any attention to her, Pooh," the Joker sniffed. "She's just jealous, isn't she?"

"Of course she is, Mistah J!"

"And she doesn't have a sense of humor. Does she?"

"Welll... not a very good one, Mistah J!"

The Joker smiled again, satisfied.

"Good."

Poison Ivy's eyes narrowed menacingly, and Edward Nigma stepped in hastily.

"Er, er, and I'm sure we're all anxious for the next clue to the puzzle, so to speak?"

"If you mean we're all anxious to alleviate your compulsion, Nigma..." Crane put in.

"It is not a compulsion!"

This sent the Joker into spasms of maniacal laughter.

"AHAHAHAHA! Oh, Eddie, m'boy... Eddie... of _course _it's not," Joker gasped. "You're hilarious, you know that?"

The Riddler clenched his fists and ground his jaw heavily.

"But never mind. The next clue... isssssss... okay, okay, I can't stand the sus_pense! _Tall, dark, and handsome this fellow's _not- _he wears some sort of wacky mask to hide his baby blues!" The Joker circled his fingers around his eyes and snickered uncontrollably. "Hoo boy, am I looking forward to seeing him _without _it!"

"Wait..." Killer Croc shook his head, puzzled. "It's Batman?"

"Oh, how I _long _for that happy day... but no. Sadly, the Flying Rodent Madman is still on the loose," Joker replied. "So be careful walking back to your cars at night, ladies and gents; there's a battyman at large."

"Sides," Harley put in, "they didn't even take off his mask last time he was here."

**"He's not gonna end up as you, is he, clown?"** Two-Face rasped. **"I hate double-talk."**

"Tell me about it," put in Scarface. "I know you; you're gonna try ta play us for fools. Right?"

The Joker sat up, looking comically taken aback. The dark circles around his eyes made his look of surprised innocence look highly exaggerated and a bit disturbing.

"What makes you say that?" he said. "Are you accusing me of trying to _trick _you? Rest assured, the thought never even _crossed _my mind!"

He broke off into low, psychotic chuckles. The Rogues traded looks, but remained silent.

"But let's move right along, folks, to the next display in JOKER'S ALL-NEW CIRCUS OF SMILES AND A-MAZ-ING CERTIFIED FREAKSHOW!" The Joker clapped his hands together like a carny barker. "Who's it going to be? Pammy? Arnie? Or maybe Harvey Bacon-face wants to go _twice..."_

**"Shut up," **growled Two-Face.

Poison Ivy merely crossed her arms and gave the Joker a look.

"Okay, then, guess it's time for the Ventriloquist!" Joker said. "C'mon, Arnie old pal... _entertain _us."

"Er... er... I..." Arnold Wesker stammered, pulling at his collar.

"What about me, clown? Ya think Dummy's more interestin' than _me? _I'm the big shot- me, Scarface!" Wesker's puppet interrupted. "Ya wanna hear somethin' _really _interestin', just lemme tell you about my first time in stir..."


	12. Boss of the Big House

It was raining in East Gotham. Icy water rattled along the gutters and shuddered along the barred windows of Arkham State Penitentiary in dim, yellow-lit torrents. The streets were awash in clear water, with a little shimmer on the surface where the searchlight reflected. It was the kind of night that inspired random muggings, shootings, assault, and jaywalking all over Gotham. Overhead, the moon was sunk behind clouds almost as thick as the cigar smoke inside the guard lounge, where the night shift guard, Lucky O'Grady, cowered just underneath a NO SMOKING sign and prayed to God to live up to his name while three men in pinstriped suits blew smoke in his face.

"What seems to be the problem, O'Grady?"

This was a big guy, built like a tank with a few extra pounds of ironside laid on for good measure. He tipped his fedora back a few inches and gave the hapless guard a predatory grin.

"You're behind on your payments. Again."

"I'm sorry! Look, things have been busy. I think the warden's on to me. I just gotta lay low for a while, you know?"

"Lay low? You're layin' so low, you'd be under concrete if you went any lower," the big man scoffed, puffing out hazy smoke with each word.

His companion grinned, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth the color of old caulk.

"You ca'n't go any lower; you're on the floor as it is," he pointed out in a clipped English accent.

"Look," O'Grady said. "I can get you the dough tomorrow, no problem. Come on. You know I'm good for it."

"Good for it?" the third man interrupted, with a smile even larger and more vicious than the second gangster's. His eyes were lost to shadow, but his face was an unnatural sort of pale, the white dead pale of a man who's been drowned and fished up again out of someplace cold and wet and dark. "Don't make me _laugh! _You're such a greasy, slimy, _disgusting _little piece of garbage not even fit to breathe the same air as me, you're not even good for fish food! Isn't that right, Harleen?"

The woman on his arm looked up quickly. She was one of those big-eyed, blonde-headed dames who always look like they're seeing into a brighter world. What she was doing with this guy was anybody's guess.

"Don't do it, please," she pleaded. "I hate fish! Ew!"

This set her fellow off like an alarm clock, an alarm clock some sadistic nurse had set to psychotic laughter. O'Grady seemed to be developing a bad case of palsy.

"No, please! You can't do that, please, no!" he begged. "Daly, Tetch, you can't let him!"

"It ain't up ta us, O'Grady," Daly sneered, turning on his heel and taking a long drag on his fat cigar. "You can take things up with Mr. Scarface."

"That's right," the man who laughed put in. His smile was enormous and stretched from ear to ear. "Don't look at me, Lucky ol' boy! I'm just along for tricks and giggles! No, no, no, it's this fellow right _here _you want to take things up with!"

O'Grady's face drained as the gangsters stepped aside and a hulking shadow moved up and out of the back booth. As the big man moved towards the hapless guard, the yellowed lamplights fell on his face. It wasn't a pretty one. Scarface had the face of a bulldog, with sharp mean little eyes like a cornered rodent's and a long, badly stitched scar running up one cheek. But the Gotham underworld didn't award leadership of mob families based on pretty looks. Scarface had earned his status as mob boss around the same time he'd earned his nickname, and wore the four-inch-long gash as a medal of honor, or maybe a reminder that offing Mr. Big was harder than it looked.

"Well, well, well," Scarface sneered, reaching into his jacket for a cigar. "If it ain't my old pal, Lucky O'Grady." He shook his head and lit up the cigar. "Someone's got da wrong nickname, and it ain't me." Daly and Tetch chuckled dutifully. "Now, look here, Lucky. My goys tells me youse behind on your payments again. Is dat true?"

"Uh…" Lucky blinked. Unfortunately, it was a blink of surprise. "'…Goys?'"

Scarface's face flushed scarlet.

"Funny guy, huh? Shut it! Folks what makes fun o' my speech impediment don't live long enough ta do it twice!"

He leaned in close to the shuddering guard and blew smoke into O'Grady's face.

"Got it?"

"Er, er, Mr. Scarface," a quavering voice broke in. "Remember your blood pressure, sir."

O'Grady looked up in surprise. Behind Scarface's large frame, a smaller, older man in a tuxedo and bow tie was leaning out, looking like a cross between a lost carny barker and a mugging waiting to happen. In a flash, Scarface backhanded him and shoved him into the shadows.

"Shuddup, Dummy, who asked you?"

"Aw, don't be mean ta poor Arnie," the laughing man's moll put in. "Ya know he's just tryin' ta think of what's best for you."

"That's right, Scarface," her man grinned. "You can't just slap your… ah… business associate around like that. It's simply not _polite!"_

"Can it, Jack," Scarface grunted. "Dummy an' I have an agreement. I talk care o' gusiness and he doesn't talk. Isn't dat right, Dummy?"

The man seemed to shrink even farther within himself, holding up one hand apologetically, or maybe to ward off blows.

"Oh, y-y-yes sir," he stammered. "You're the boss, sir. I won't say a word."

"Good."

"Well, whaddya know," Jack mused. "You two _do _have a mutual understanding!" He tipped back his violet fedora, revealing a face that was the stuff of comedy and nightmares. "Isn't that cute. Ya know, Scarface ol' buddy, I absolutely _love _seeing a working relationship like the one you've got going." Shaking off Harleen with all the tender mercy of a man ridding himself of a small, tenacious dog, Jack waltzed over to the mob boss and placed a pinstriped arm around his shoulders. "It's a testament to the condition of the human race!"

Scarface glared at the psychotic hitman and ground his teeth together, trying to ignore that little voice that made him want to strangle, stab, shoot, and murder Jack Napier. The ghastly gangster was one of Gotham's best and most infamous killers; the only thing stopping Jack from heading up a gang of his own was his unpleasant habit of killing all his underlings on a joke. While he might despise the grinning hitman, Scarface didn't exactly want him angry, at least not until the mob boss had time to remove himself to a safe distance. Say, three or four hundred miles.

"Jack, old pal," he growled. "Give me some breathin' space, will ya? And you—" he turned on the guard—"you getter pay up, or I'm gonna let my guddy Jack teach ya how ta smile. Scarface is da boss here, see, and anygody who stands in my way is gonna end up with more than just a pretty scar. Ain't dat right, Jack?"

"Uh, yep, yep, yep, that's a big yessirree, yes sir!" Jack grinned. He didn't take his arm from around Scarface's shoulders; if anything, he tightened his grip. "But see, Scarface ol' chum, ol' buddy ol' boy, there's just one little thing. One little teeny weeny… eensty… _weensty… problem."_

Scarface wriggled a little in the hitman's grasp. Jack had suddenly become very close, the sort of closeness used only for lovers and victims, and Scarface hadn't gotten any signals that Jack wanted to get cozy with him.

"Yeah?" he said, keeping his voice gruff. "What's dat?"

"Oh, just this." Jack's grip became unbearably tight, and Scarface could feel his legs going cold. "I'm the only boss in here. Got it?"

Blackness blurred at the edge of Scarface's vision, and it wasn't just the failing lights. Somewhere nearby, Harleen laughed.

"Dummy! He's got me!" he yelled, feeling himself go limp.

Jack chuckled, breathing out cigar smoke and rancid sweet breath, and Scarface passed out.

* * *

><p>Thanks so much for the kind reviews! So sorry about the long delay... perhaps I should resort to some manner of begging andor groveling at this point. What can I say? I was ambushed by life.

Anyway, I plan on posting multiple updates this week, so stay 'tooned!


	13. The Roommate

"...and dat was my first time in Arkham," Scarface finished.

"Oh yes," said the Joker, placing one finger near his ear and nodding thoughtfully, "I do seem to remember our little... charade. Pity the guards had to come blundering in and stop us from putting a smile on ol' Lucky's face. You know," he added, "he does not have the right name at _all."_

"Oh no?" Harley Quinn asked. "What would you call him, Mistah J?"

"Oh, I don't know," Joker said absent-mindedly. "Maybe something like... Priest."

"_Priest?"_ Harley echoed.

"Oh, yes," nodded the Joker. "Because, you see, if I had my way... he'd end up pretty _holey! _AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"That's not a joke!" the Riddler said. "That's a pun, a terrible pun!"

"Oh, like you can talk," Crane muttered.

"Hey," Killer Croc put in, suddenly, "I got a question."

The Joker sat up, recovering from his bout of laughter.

"Well, don't hesitate to _ask, _Croccers! What's on your mind?"

"You said we're getting a new inmate, right?" Croc asked.

"Right. And Eddie's _dying _to know WHO the new fish isssss."

"Yeah, but when is he going to be here?" said Croc. "You never mentioned it."

"When?" The Joker glanced around the circle. "When? Well..." he leaned back and cracked his knuckles. If possible, his grin became even more evil. "If everything goes according to plan, it should be right... about... now."

There was a small space of silence. All the Rogues looked at each other, blinking rather stupidly as they all waited for something atrocious and sickeningly funny to happen. Of all the Rogues, the Joker was perhaps the most creative. Last time he had broken out, it had been with an enormous bullet-spewing Joker-in-the-box at the front gate; before that, it had been a two-part chemical reaction that converted caffeine into Smilex gas, giving every coffee drinker in Arkham- every guard, orderly, doctor and nurse- a gigantic case of the giggles. The time before that had involved a kidnapped sidekick and exploding rubber chickens. So when the Joker gave his most sickening clown smile and vaguely referenced nefarious plans, they all expected something hilariously horrifying.

The Joker sat there, that same evil grin stuck on his face. After a moment, he sighed.

"Well, that was anticlimati-"

BOOOOM! The explosion was close, probably within twenty feet of the rec room's entrance, and the whole room flashed red and... green? And purple. Of course. And the initial blastwave faded away into the sound of shouts from the guards, which quickly changed to tortured laughter.

"Again?" Nigma groaned.

"WOOHOO!" screamed Harley Quinn and clutching the Joker in homicidal ecstasy. "Hear that? We're busting out!"

The Joker winced, his ear less than a foot from Harley's mouth.

"WE'RE BLOWIN' THIS POPSICLE STAND! WE'RE HEADIN' OUT NOW!" Harley shrieked. Everyone covered their ears. "LET'S GO TA VEGAS BABY!"

"Nobody move!" a male voice bellowed. "Everybody, on the ground now! Hands where I can see them!"

The Rogues didn't have to turn to know that Aaron Cash and company where standing in the doorway, probably with gas masks in place and weapons drawn.

"Move! On the ground, now!" Cash shouted.

"Again?" Nigma groaned.

**"We gotta flip for it," **Harvey Dent growled.

"Now, now," the Joker interposed benevolently. "Let's not make _trouble, _Harv. Just do what the nice man says, and we can all get back to our hilariously unstable lunatic activities." Cash immediately turned his weapon on the Joker. The clown frowned and crossed his eyes to look at the Taser aimed at his nose. "What? Was it something I said?"

"Whatever you're planning, clown," Cash said, "it's not going to work."

"Oh, of _course not," _the Joker said. "I mean, even if I was planning anything, which I'm not. See? Nothing up my sleeve..."

"Don't move, Joker," the head of security warned him. "The only reason we're in here is to escort the new inmate in."

Nigma's jaw dropped.

"What?" Pam Isely sputtered. "New inmate?"

"Don't move, Ivy," Cash said. "Yes, we were transporting another... high-level security risk... when the lights went out. Unfortunately, due to the unexpected, ah, combustion of nearly the entire C-Block, we're going to have to place him in the recreational room until the cellblock is operational. I apologize for the... inconvenience. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT harm this inmate in any way. Hear me, Joker?"

"I don't believe it," Nigma muttered.

"Oh ye of little faith," the Joker grinned out of the side of his mouth. "Oh, yes, Officer Cash. Whatever you say, Officer Cash. We wouldn't dream of-"

He found himself staring down a Taser barrel again.

"Er, look here, Moneybags, wouldn't you mind pointing that elsewhere? I promise not to hurt our new pal... too much. We'll be nice to him, give him the ol' Arkham welcome, hmmm? I swear, I won't hurt him. Cross my heart and hope to kill!"

"Uh-huh," Cash muttered. He knew very well that the Joker would try something on the new inmate. However, he also knew that the young man currently straitjacketed in the lobby had dislocated the arms of two orderlies and broken a guard's nose while still in said straitjacket. "Listen to me, all of you. Anybody gets hurt, you all get solitary. Two months. Got it?"

When no one answered him, the hook-handed security chief withdrew, leaving four heavily armored guards in the doorway.

"I trust this is all going to some chaotic-yet-brilliant plan, Joker?" hissed Poison Ivy.

"You got it, Pammy. Ooh, and since we're about to meet our dear little friend..." the Joker turned and gave her a brilliant smile. "Howzabout a story?"

"Hah! You miscalculated," Poison Ivy returned. "If we're about to meet 'our dear little friend'... then I don't have to go." She returned Joker's smile and crossed her arms. "Or maybe you want to start a fight right in front of them? If so, I hope you'll enjoy your two months of solitary. I know I will. I won't have to hear your annoying, irritating, psychotic, despicable voice for two. Whole. MONTHS."

Joker held up his hands and laughed.

"Whoa, Pammy! Don't talk like that. You know I'd miss you too, if we were to be so cruelly separated."

"Puddin!" Harley protested.

"Pammy, sweetheart, don't worry," Joker continued. "I'm not going anywhere."

Pamela Isely clenched her fists and muttered unprintable words under her breath.

"But forget about her," Joker said, addressing the assembled Rogues. "Ladies and gentlemen... get ready to meet... the latest (but not greatest) of Arkham's inmates- YOUR NEW ROOMMATE!"


	14. DunDunDUN!

Two guards in riot gear advanced a little way into the rec room, their Taser rifles wavering from Rogue to Rogue. After nobody moved, and Killer Croc raised his claws a little higher, the guards fell back and planted themselves on either side of the door like attendants for visiting royalty. Joker snickered without lowering his hands.

"And here I thought _I _was King of Arkham!" he chuckled.

Two little red dots immediately appeared on his chest, and he rolled his eyes.

"Aw, c'mon guy, lighten up! It was just a _joke!"_

"Then how come no one's laughing?" Pamela Isley smirked. "Oh, come on, boys, don't be so jumpy with those big, dangerous guns." She shook long red hair back and pursed her deadly lips. "You're not afraid of little old me, are you? I don't bite... unless you want me to."

"Quiet, Isely." Aaron Cash strode into the room, closely flanked by two more guards, and gave the beautiful villainess a stern look. "Now, I'd like you to meet your new... fellow patient." His eyes drifted resignedly to the back wall, and he launched into the Arkham welcome speech: "As always, we want to facilitate healing and a smooth transition into the institutional setting for our new patient. I trust you will all do your best to make him feel welcome and at home. Like many of you, our new patient has a strong masked persona which is to be discouraged. I will ask you all to address him as Patient N, therefore, and not encourage his delusion. Thank you."

Cash retreated, and the guards stepped aside to admit two white-clad orderlies. Between them, a dark-haired young man in a straightjacket and small black mask struggled, blue eyes darting furious glances at his restrainers from behind the mask.

"I don't believe it..." muttered Jonathan Crane.

"Hey! I know dat guy!" Scarface shouted. "Ya nearly groke my nose, ya big lummox!"

"Ooohhhhh yessssss..." Joker grinned, turning to the others and holding out his hands as if presenting a dignitary. "Ladies and gentlemen of Arkham Asylum, I present to you, your one-time persecutor and new fellow inmate, the inimitable Nightwing!"

The entire Rogues' Gallery broke into cheers, clapping, and catcalls. Nightwing's eyes narrowed behind his mask, and he lunged at the Joker. The two orderlies were ready for this and held him back until the vigilante's struggles stopped and he settled for shooting laser beam glares of death at the Joker.

"And as for you, sir," Cash said, turning to the straitjacketed vigilante. "I am deeply sorry to see you here. However, during your stay- however long it may be- you must abide by the Arkham Asylum rules of behavior. This includes not attacking fellow inmates. Infraction of this rule will result in sedation or relocation to the isolation cells- which were not damaged by the Joker's bombs. Understood?"

"Understood," Nightwing said through clenched teeth.

Cash nodded to the orderlies, and they released Nightwing and retreated back through the doors. With a final warning glance at all the inmates, Cash followed them, slamming the doors shut after him.

"Well, well, well," the Joker said, approaching the newest inmate. "If it isn't ol' Nightiewing, ol' buddy. Don't feel _bad_; I always knew you'd end up here sooner or later! Isn't that right, Harley-poo?"

"Right-a-roonie," Harley beamed. "Nice ta see someone's finally lockin' up the real loonies in this town."

**"Enough with the wisecracks," **growled Two-Face. **"Let's have a look at this flunky's other face."**

"Yeah!" Scarface shouted. "Let's see who da louse is already!"

"Oh, _sorry_ boys," the Joker interrupted, throwing an arm around Nightwing's shoulders. "We can't pull the little bird's face off just yet. See, while he could be any Tom, _Dick, _or Harry underneath that BEAUTIFUL black mask..." he abruptly let go of the vigilante after receiving an elbow in the ribs. "It just wouldn't be cricket to rip it right now, without any fun and games first. You can't deliver the punch-line without the proper set-up."

"You sound like Nigma," sneered Crane.

"I'm with Crane, for once," Poison Ivy put in. "Playing games is stupid. We should unmask him now, before the Bat shows up and breaks him out."

"Mm-hmm. Oh, you think so too?" the Joker nodded sympathetically. "It's unanimous, then. We're having a contest to see who gets the honor. What will it be?"

**"Keep it simple," **rasped Two-Face. **"Just flip the coin."**

"Simple?" Edward Nigma objected. "No, no, no... I propose we set up a system whereby we guess at the so-called vigilante's identity... and the person who gets the closest gets to take off the mask!"

"How about a wrestling match?" Killer Croc asked, cracking his knuckles. "Seems fair to me."

"Fergit that, let's play poker, winner-takes-all!" shouted Scarface.

The Joker chuckled wickedly.

"And what do you propose, Pammy? Spin the bottle?" he jeered. "No, no, my fellow, ah, inmates, we need something _better_ than that. Something more FUN! Something... with style. What we need... is a story."

There was a moment of silence.

"You have got to be kidding me," Poison Ivy said.

"Stories? Really, Joker?" said Nigma, wrinkling his nose.

"You've all heard your fellow psycho's 'first time' stories," Joker said. "And no, Nightiewing, it's not what you're thinking. SO! I'm going to tell MY story... and then little birdie here's going to tell HIS story. And if mine is better..." the Joker broke off into low, dark chuckling. "Then I get to hold him down and rip that little wingie mask right off his face."

**"And if his is... better?"**

"Simple, Harv. Then Batsy gets a very _special _surprise on his front door tomorrow morning," Joker grinned, running a finger across his throat. "And we'll put it to a vote to see who gets the mask."

"Very clever," Nigma said. "Once we know the apprentice's name, it should be simple to deduce the identity of the mentor. Oh, don't think the new outfit fooled anyone," he added, addressing Nightwing. "Black and robin's-egg-blue? Honestly. A clue so simple a _child _could have solved it."

"Wait a minute," Jervis Tetch said. "He used to be Robin?"

"I believe," Scarecrow hissed, "this little... _boy... _owes me several thousand dollars... **and twelve hours of terror."**

"Yeah? Why don't you try to take it then?" Nightwing snapped. "And Joker, what makes you think I'd go along with your sick scheme?"

"Oh, you'd rather start a _free_-for-all over your mask?" the Joker grinned. "Fine by me. You know I always love a good show."

"Besides," Harley put in, "there's one of you and... lots of us! And you're in a straitjacket."

**"Face it, bird-boy," **grunted Two-Face. **"The odds are stacked against you."**

"Oh, so now you're on the Joker's side?" Nightwing said.

The bifurcated villain shrugged, looking down at the silver disc in his hand.

**"It wasn't my decision to make."**

"Thanks a lot, Harvey," the Joker said. "So, settle down, boys and girls. Croccers, Harv, why don't you make the new fish comfy between you? We're going to hear a few more tall tales- starting with _mine."_

Nightwing rolled his eyes as Killer Croc and Two-Face shoved him roughly between them.

"This is going to be _great," _he muttered.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone!


	15. Have I Got A Story For You

Arkham Asylum, _so_ beloved by the good people of Gotham, has constituted an _iconic_ part of the city skyline for well over... well, the exact number of years escape me. For the sake of argument, let's just put it at a hundred. Anyway, the jolly ol' nut house has been central to the evolution and architecture of Gotham City. You might even call it the **heart of the city**- though GC LIVE assigned that title to the new Wayne Tower... so you'd be wrong. _Ha _ha!

Anyway! The point is, the dear old asylum's a major part of what it means to be a Gothamite. Who hasn't heard the spooky stories from Mommy about _ghosts_ in Arkham's attic, nightmarish experiments in the basement, **bats** in the **belfry**... you get my drift. _Any_ decent travel guide will tell you: Arkham Asylum is where it's at! Tour the Asylum at night, take an extra flashlight, and don't scrimp on the Necco wafers.

I could go for some Neccos myself, just not the black ones. Who even eats those, anyway? Licorice wafers? Yucko!

But I digress...

You may all be wondering exactly _how_ Arkham Asylum achieved this level of notoriety, this worldwide recognition, this household-name status, going on to produce a line of A.A. Fun Toys and Exciting Breakfast Cereal (with said Fun Toys at the bottom of the box)*. Aren't you? Of COURSE you are!

It began many, many years ago, on a night much like tonight. (Close your eyes and imagine with me.) The asylum sprawling in a crumbling, vaguely-Goth-looking shambles, the rain pouring down like melodramatic needles of pain, the wind howling like fifteen thousand doomed sailors participating in shipwide screaming contests... _**Yes**_. It was a dark and stormy night.

At the _time_, Arkham Asylum was little more than an overfunded, understaffed mental hospital with a couple dozen criminal cuckoos- and some equally cuckoo doctors and nurses playing dress-up in asylum white. Poor, pitiful doctors; sad, sorry nurses! They had absolutely_ nothing to do_ but walk the grounds, trim flowers, and listen to the unintelligible, tedious ramblings of a mediocre serial killer and a couple failed poets. Boring, boring, boring, _boring_, BORING. No wonder so many of the patients left so quickly- they were actually BORED INTO SANITY!

Fortunately, all that was about to change.

With a grinding shriek, a long, low, _beautiful _black car pulled to a stop before the asylum gates! Out stepped a tall and handsome stranger, his face concealed behind an equally handsome black mask! The doctors and nurses rushed out, ready to escort the new inmate in-

Oh, no, wait, actually they were there to welcome the dramatic hero and ask what he needed. 'Oh, Batman, what's the problem?' 'Batman! Is it really you?' Swoon, swoon. Faint, faint.

The Batman stepped forward and said (in a voice of gravelly steel): **"This** mAn needs _**help."**_

He then proceeded to take from his car a handcuffed, purple-clad, white-faced, jovial, hilarious, charismatic, absolutely stunning Adonis of comedy. Three more nurses promptly swooned at the sight of this chiseled, fantastic, buff-

Oh, very well, Pammy, I'll skip the purple prose (even though it's always looked good on me). Back to the story.

This handsome hunk of comedic genius was hauled up the steps of Arkham and placed in the _gentle _custody of two orderlies. Our hero looked up into the faces of the gruesome twosome and promptly knew he was home. It was a strange feeling, a sense of belonging, as if he'd finally, after all those years, managed to drag the sled back home and take her down the hill one last time- or perhaps it was the prodigal son's return, where the orderlies waited with open arms, a new jacket, and a room to call his own.

How fondly I look back upon that day! The attentive doctors, the stunned and lovestruck nurses! And, of course, the knowledge that I would _blow _that _popsicle stand _in no time, and it would all begin all **over again**. Ah, yes, it was good to be home.

Because it is my home, you know. Things were so empty, so easy back then- like a white canvas, all ready to be painted. It was so much easier back then to make the front page. A bombing _here, _a bank robbery _there, _a few jaunts with Batsy out the river and back, and whoopee! back to my own personal resort to see myself on the evening news.

Y'know, Nightiewing, if your daddy knew better, he'd just get rid of me- CKKKKKK!- instead of hauling me back _here. _If Battyman had even the slightest crumb of sense, he'd have us all iced faster than a big, chocolate cake! But he doesn't. And that's why I love him.

I get the same lecture EVERY SINGLE TIME! 'You're a sick animal' 'This time it's over'- blah, blah, **BLAH! **'Joker, this is not a game!' But I think it must be. Otherwise... why bother locking us up? He _knows _we won't stay put- it's just too darn FUN out there and boring in here! No, no, no... you know what I think? I think he enjoys it as much as I do. He knows if one of us dies, then PFFFT! The game's over. And where's the fun in that?

What's that?

Oh, I've heard that one before. But if you ask me, rules were made to be** broken**.

What about you, Boy Blunder? Got any stupid rules I should know about? I mean, now that we're going to be _roommates _and all... Well, if you're going to be like that, I'll just let you room with Croccers here.

Better make yourself comfy, Nightiewing. Because, _(just between YoU and mE), _we both know that this might be your first time, but it c_ertainly _won't be your last. A- ah- twenty-something who runs around at night in a powder blue leotard and mask? It's almost as **crazy **as a grown man dressing up like a BAT! But not quite. No. I'm sure you've seen it too.

What do I mean? Oh, it's quite simple. A bright young chap like you has to know the symptoms... obsession, paranoia, even a touch of delusional behavior! I've been to his cave, you know, I've seen the plans and the backup plans and the backup backup plans. He doesn't trust anyone, not even you. Isn't that right? Because, even if you won't _say _it, you and I both know... he belongs here as much as we do. And someday, after everyone here is gone for good... you'll be the one making a dropoff at the asylum gates. Because you want what's _best _for him.

Yesssss. Now you're getting the joke.

* * *

><p>*Actually, no, I made that part up. Batsy stopped the cereal and toys before they could leave production. Spoilsport.<p> 


	16. Groin Attack

"AHAHAHAHAHA!" Joker rocked backwards, holding his sides. "You should have seen your face, bird-boy! _Priceless!"_

"It was pretty funny, Mistah J," Harley laughed. "For a moment he really thought you were serious!"

The Joker's laughter stopped, and his smile curved into an angry frown.

"What makes you think I wasn't?" he said, half under his breath. "So whattya think, ladies and gents? Got any guesses for who's _r__rrrrreaaalllllyyyy_ under that mask?"

There was a moment of silence. Edward Nigma placed a hand on his chin and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Beside him, Jonathan Crane stared at the ground with a look of intense concentration on his thin face. Scarface's wooden eyes rolled around to rest on his Ventriloquist.

"O-oh, I don't know," Arnold Wesker said meekly. "Your guess is as good as mine, sir."

"As good as yours? My guess is getter den yours and you know it!" Scarface snapped.

**"Come to think of it... he does look a little familiar," **Two-Face growled. **"Used to be Robin, huh? I always knew there were two of them..."**

"Who says there were only two?" Nightwing interjected.

"Ooh! Ooh! Mistah J! I know, I know, pick me!" Harley Quinn waved her arm wildly in the air.

"Yes, Harley?"

"I know this guy- he's, uh, what's-his-name, the gooey actor!"

"Clayface? You really think so?" Joker said. He paused, striking up a thoughtful pose. "Maybe we should test that theory. Harley..."

He held out a pasty white hand, and, after a moment of digging between the couch cushions, Harley Quinn dropped a handmade plastic knife into it.

"Now, Harv, you hold him," Joker instructed, approaching Nightwing with a nightmarish smile. "Don't worry, little bird. This is only going to hurt- A LOT!"

Nightwing's eyes narrowed behind the mask, and he backed up- straight into Two-Face's arms. The bifurcated villain immediately seized him in a bear hug. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem; with his arms strapped to his chest and a psychotic clown directly in front of him, chances of unmaimed escape were low. Two-Face's grip tightened, and the Joker's gingivitis breath filled Nightwing's nostrils as the giggling supervillain leaned in close, holding the knife up before Nightwing's eyes. On the other hand...

Nightwing lunged forward and kneed the Joker in the groin. The villain let out a pained and high-pitched squeak and dropped the knife. Somewhere in the audience, a woman laughed. Then Two-Face's scarred hand was around Nightwing's throat, and the vigilante found himself jerked back and sandwiched between Dent and Killer Croc. The former circus freak chuckled a little, bent his neck a little, and drew in a deep breath.

"No worries," he called. "He's human all right. I oughtta know- the other one stinks of mud and plasticine."

"Big whoop," the Joker wheezed, his voice still higher-pitched than usual. "Step aside, Harv, I want to have a little _heart-to-heart _with birdie boy."

**"Don't even try it," **growled Harvey Dent. **"We already flipped for it... remember?"**

The Joker glared at Two-Face and turned away, sharply.

"Fine! Anyone else want to make a guess?" he snapped.

"Whoever he is, I like his sense of humor," purred Poison Ivy.

Joker ground his teeth together and shot a death glare in her direction.

"Just tell the stupid story already!" he yelled at Nightwing.


	17. The Vigilante's Story

Gotham Harbor. A long, low, black waterline lapped at filthy shores, the dark water rocking flotsam, garbage, and worse towards the littered rocks. Above, the sinking sun had leaked red across the sky and turned the water red too. In the distance, a smoking freighter stood black and stark against the sunset. Nightwing swung in low and fast, landing gracefully atop a shipping crane. It was early, suspiciously early for Bruce to be about, and he wanted to make sure there were no hidden surprises. Just in case. The young vigilante scanned the empty dockyards. Right about now, every good and honest worker in Gotham was headed back to his supper and bed. That left the other two-thirds of the city to watch for.

Two heavily made-up women of indeterminate age flounced by, taking up their posts at the corner lamplight. Illegal and unsavory, maybe, but not a direct threat. Farther down the yards, two men sat silhouetted at the end of a pier. Their legs dangled over the end like children's, and they seemed unusually friendly towards one another. Probably a drug deal. A big man in a dark cap moved silently down the docks, a roll of barbed wire slung casually over his shoulder. Nightwing didn't even want to know where he was going.

"I thought I told you to meet me at Pier Seven," a stern voice said from behind Nightwing.

He turned, irritated.

"I thought I told you to quit sneaking up on me like that," he retorted. "It gets old fast."

Bruce didn't say anything, just gave him that cold, dark look that worked so well on criminal geniuses and two-bit thugs.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to make that face for too long, or it just might stick?" Dick said. No answer. "I guess not. Why'd you call me down here, anyway?"

"There was a break-out at Arkham last week. Clayface is loose again."

"Yeah, I know. I saw the papers. And believe me, if he sets foot in Bludhaven, he'll be headed back to Arkham faster than greased lightning," said Dick. "That still doesn't explain why you wanted me down here. Unless you're asking for help..."

"No. I wanted to warn you," said Bruce. He pulled out a plastic bag of photographs and tossed them to Nightwing. "I was tracking Clayface yesterday when I got sidetracked by Firefly. By the time I took Lynns to Arkham Asylum, Clayface had retreated to-"

"The old Iron Knight Chemical Plant in Bludhaven," Nightwing interrupted. "I know the place. The Mad Hatter used it for one of his lairs a couple of months ago."

"Jonathan Crane used it for a hideout a few months before that," said Batman. "Look at the photos. The first two are after the Scarecrow's and the Mad Hatter's residencies, respectively. The third is one I took a few days ago."

"The chemicals," Nightwing realized. "They're gone."

"Yes. And that's not all. I took a sample of Clayface's protoplasmic material during our fight and had it analyzed. It turns out he's been frequenting a lot of chemical plants lately, probably in some misguided attempt to restore his body. Every chemical he comes into contact with is temporarily absorbed by the unstable clay compound," Batman said somberly. "Individually, the chemicals might not pose a threat; taken together, he's turned himself into a walking toxin cocktail. And now he's loose in Bludhaven."

Nightwing didn't say anything, just looked at the photographs for a long time.

"Don't let him touch you," Batman warned.

"Of course not," said Nightwing, still looking at the pictures. "By the way, Batman-"

But when he looked up, the Caped Crusader was already gone.

* * *

><p>Two hours and twenty-six miles later, Nightwing crouched atop an avian gargoyle on the side of Gotham University at Bludhaven. Dr. Golem. It had to be Dr. Golem. He was some sort of celebrity scientist from Palestine with a reputation for treating rare and severe skin diseases. Currently, the good doctor was giving a series of lectures on reverse chemotherapy, or something like that. There was no way Clayface could pass that up. It was like a museum displaying a diamond cat statue and not expecting Catwoman to steal it.<p>

Nightwing adjusted his infrared binoculars and scanned the parking lot. Dr. Golem's lecture had ended about twenty minutes ago, and most of the students had left. A few stragglers ran down the steps or walked in pairs, leaning in close. The infrared scan showed them all at normal body temperature and density. But if the doctor himself didn't show soon, Nightwing would have to go check up on him.

"Um, excuse me? You're not supposed to be up here," a female voice said from behind him.

Nightwing turned, raising the lenses. A demure blonde student in pink cashmere and worn jeans eyed him nervously, tucking and retucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. Behind her, the rooftop door swung open, spilling out warm light.

"Yeah, she's right."

Who the heck was that? Nightwing spun around again- just in time to see the gargoyle face twist into something far, far worse, and a far of pupilless yellow eyes open over the malformed beak.

"You could get hurt up here," the gargoyle gurgled, stretching and bloating and losing its grey color.

"Don't you know," the girl continued, in Clayface's voice, "it's a dangerous city out there?"

Nightwing had just time to leap aside as the two halves of the protoplasmic monster lashed back together.

"Clayface!" he yelled, handspringing and landing about ten feet away. "Stop! I know you're interested in Dr. Golem because you're looking for a cure! Give yourself up now, and we can help you."

"Help me?" Clayface growled. "Help me? I already have help! As long as I keep taking my prescription, I'll stay like this- invincible!"

Nightwing cartwheeled away as a huge clay axe smashed the rooftiles where he had been standing. So Clayface was toxic, unmelting, _and _possibly allied with someone else. Great. He reached for the ice pellets in his belt and tossed them in Clayface's direction. Almost instinctively, the clay recoiled, and the pellet bounced off the rooftop.

"Ah, ah, ah," grinned Clayface. "Can't fool me twice! Ya know what I'm going to do to you, birdie boy?"

"No, but I bet you're going to tell me," retorted Nightwing.

"Hah hah hah! Normally, yes. But in this case, I think actions speak louder than words!"

And suddenly, a wave of clay-colored sludge was rolling down on Nightwing, coiling around his ankles, twisting about his wrists, pulling him down, deep, to its dark heart. Clay swarmed his face and covered his mouth, pungent with loam and a sharp chemical odor, foul and choking. He tried to fight, to pull away or get a breath, but there was only clay, clay...

Nightwing woke up hanging by his ankles in dark and empty space. He glanced down- a dizzying drop to bare, littered concrete. Not good.

"Come on, Clayface," he called. "Not even a vat of bubbling acid? You're losing your touch."

"Losing my touch? I never lost it, kid," came a mocking voice, and, with a slithering sensation Nightwing was sure he'd feel in his nightmares, the chains around his body shifted and twisted until Clayface's grinning face appeared inches from his own. "Take a good look at your ankles. I'm the only thing keeping you from going splat."

Nightwing narrowed his eyes, but bit back his sarcastic comment.

"So why bring me here in the first place?" he said.

"Simple. It's all part of the plan." Clayface grinned and, thankfully, retreated a few feet. "See, after I got washed down the pipes last time, I needed help. And I found it. A very... generous beneficiary gave me enough dough to get my body put back together. Even gave me some friendly advice on which chemicals to soak up! I'm toxic sludge, baby!"

"More like toxic waste," Nightwing snapped.

"Hah! Well, have your little joke. It ain't gonna matter one or another. See, in return for fixing me up and giving me free medical advice, I'm gonna deliver you- bound and gagged- to the gates of Arkham."

"Oh, you're actually turning yourself in this time? Thanks, it saves me the effort."

"You still don't get it. I'm a walking biohazard... with a special talent for hallucination. By the time we reach the gates, you're going to be- a cuckoo!" Clayface laughed.

Dick didn't say anything until they were both in the car, with half of Clayface driving and the other pinning Nightwing's arms to his sides.

"So," he said. "You're not gonna tell me who hired you."

"It was more a matter of mutual favors," said Clayface. "But no."

"Doesn't matter," Nightwing said shortly. "I already know."

Clayface turned in his seat, his face going white and stretching into a nightmarish grin.

"Seriously though, you're going to love Arkham this time of year!" he said, in the Joker's voice.

"Very cute." Nightwing shook his head.

"Ooh, you devil! What would the Battyman say?" Joker clapped one hand over his mouth in mock surprise.

"Probably that you're a sick animal with an even sicker sense of humor."

The whole van jolted, and Clayface shook his head, grinning.

"Smatter, Nightwing? Seeing things already? I knew I was poisonous-"

"-but I didn't know I was that poisonous," Poison Ivy finished. "C'mere, loverboy, and give me a kiss."

By the time the van reached Arkham Asylum, Nightwing had shared a ride with Harley Quinn, the Scarecrow, a bunch of wriggling green snakes, Mr. Zsasz, and a disapproving Batman. He'd stopped responding to his "guests" after the first three, although he had the niggling suspicion that Clayface was shapeshifting on top of the hallucinations, just to mess with him.

Then they'd stopped, the sludge melted off Nightwing and into a very familiar, very square-jawed shape.

"I'd like to check... a friend in."

"Shut up," Nightwing said through clenched teeth.

"Yes. He may be dangerous. Thank you for your understanding."

Dr. Leland had looked into the car, her face flickering with burlap.

"Oh! My God!" Then, straightening. "I'm so sorry. This must be awful for you."

Batman had squared his shoulders and turned away from the car, deliberately.

"How soon can you get him inside?"

"You are not. My father," Dick hissed, under his breath. "Not even real. Not real."

"Right away. Here are the forms. Any reason for commitment?"

And Batman- Bruce- had taken them, signed them, not even looked back.

"Because," he said, handing them back. "I want what's best for him."

And that was when Nightwing lost it.


	18. Together

"Awwwww." The Joker made an exaggerated pouty face. "Poor little Nightiewing. So lost, so troubled... so stupid! REALLY! Getting tricked by Mud-face? Sorry, but even _I _wouldn't fall for that oozing blob of putty."

Nightwing glared at Joker and said nothing.

"Uh-oh, he's planning something, boss," Harley Quinn said. "I've seen that look before!"

"I'm sure he is, Harley-pie. But he'll be too **dead **for it to make any difference! KIDDIES! You've heard both sides of the story and all the crazy kicks in between. Let's put it to a nice, fair, Democratic vote!"

"Not so fast, Joker," came Pamela Isley's sultry voice. "I don't think Nightwing here finished his story."

"Oh, come on, Pammy, don't start now," the Joker said. "You already passed on the chance to shoehorn your own backstory in here. We're voting!"

"Yeah!" Killer Croc added, and then, "Wait, who's the candidates?"

"It doesn't matter," Nygma said. "Vote for the Joker."

"But-"

"Trust me on this."

"No, no, no," Pamela Isley said, stepping in close to the Joker. "I don't think you understand. The bird-boy's story isn't finished. We don't know who brought him to Arkham."

"Aw, Red, don't be a stick in the mud," Harley said. "It was Mistah J, of course!"

"Really? Now isn't that funny," mused Isley. "I didn't think 'Mistah J' knew that much about chemicals. Besides the fact they don't make for good bathwater, I mean."

Joker ground his teeth and glared at the beautiful villainess.

"Now I, on the other hand- I'm a scientist, not a mass murderer," Poison Ivy said. She smiled sweetly at the Joker. "Admit it, darling. You're trying to take credit for someone else's handiwork. I can't really say I'm surprised- men have been doing it to women for centuries."

"Rrrrr! She's LYING!" shouted the Joker. "You blathering little idiot! I never gave that walking tub of _Silly Putty _a cure! The chemicals were just supposed to make Dicky bird c_razy _enough for admittance so he'd wind up in here! I planned this, I planned all of it, and I'll be wet-willied before I see someone else take credit!"

There was a moment of silence. In the corner, Nightwing smiled grimly. Poison Ivy took a step towards Joker, who grinned back maliciously. Then Ivy's eyes closed...

...and reopened to nightmarish yellow orbs. Joker's grin froze.

"Funny you should mention that," growled Poison Ivy, her voice wavering between sultry femininity and a guttural rasp. "The vigilante suggested as much on the ride over."

"Red!" gasped Harley. "You're not lookin' yourself!"

"I wouldn't worry about 'Red,'" Poison Ivy said. A long crack ran down her face, and dirty yellow clay burst out. "She was more than happy to get a free pass out after I hit the lights. And, hey, what can I say? She's got good taste- call me if you ever get bored, toots."

"Hey! Nobody talks that way to my girl, except me!" the Joker snapped. "All right, Mud-for-brains, I admit it. I fooled you into-"

He was interrupted by a huge clay hand to the torso. In the corner, Nightwing leaped up and sprang over Harvey Dent. The two-faced villain let out a startled gargle of rage and lunged at him. Nightwing cartwheeled out of the way, and Two-Face careened into the Ventriloquist. Meanwhile, the Joker alternated bouts of psychotic laughter with shocking Clayface with the guard's flashlight. It was utter chaos.

"Noooo! Hang on, Puddin', I'm comin'!" howled Harley Quinn.

**"He's getting away! Everyone, stop the vigilante!" **Two-Face roared.

"He ain't gettin' away from me!" Croc bellowed, and charged after Nightwing.

But some had other ideas.

"Shut up, Dummy, ya wanna get pounded again? Leave th' birdie alone; let's get outta here!"

"For once, I believe the puppet has the right idea," Nigma announced to no one in particular. "I believe they say: those who leave the Joker and Clayface to fight it out, and run while Two-Face is strangling Nightwing, live to riddle another day."

**"That's not how the rhyme goes," **rasped Scarecrow.

Nigma shrugged and dodged a flying clay hammer.

"Close enough."

As if by agreement, the two villains ran to the nearest window and began working on the laughably insecure security lock. Meanwhile, Nightwing had taken down Croc and was currently sparring blows with Harvey Dent, and Clayface was beginning to be angry.

Every time he got near the Joker, the clown shocked him, with a flashlight! The electricity didn't have much effect on him, but it felt a bit like being a wet person being shocked with a Taser while standing in shallow water, except that the water was the Clayface's body and the toaster was his brain. And the clown never stopped laughing! Never! Behind him, he say Nightwing go flying across the room and land hard on Harley Quinn. That gave him an idea. Why let the Joker keep shocking him when the monster clown could waste his battery on the harlequin? A tendril of clay snaked out towards Quinn-

and was immediately severed by a well-thrown Batarang. Or Nightwing-a-rang. Wingarang? Clayface would have stopped to ponder the name, but-

"RRRRAAAAH! Joker, I will KILL YOU!"

Clayface hurled himself at Joker, enveloping the grinning villain despite the flashlight's sting. Amazing what you can do when you're angry.

* * *

><p>Croc was out for the count, and he'd just knocked out Two-Face with the Ventriloquist's puppet. Two birds with one stone; Harvey should be pleased, or at at least mollified. Nightwing cuffed Quinn and quickly scanned the room for the others. Riddler and Scarecrow were gone, probably trying to escape, the Ventriloquist was hiding under a table, Dent was groaning softly and holding his head. That only left-<p>

BAM! Something hard slammed into Nightwing's head from behind, and he briefly saw stars.

"Off with his head!" shouted the Mad Hatter. "Off with his _head!"_

Oh, brother. His head still ringing like a bell, Nightwing turned slowly and immediately realized why no guards had sounded the alarm yet. Apparently, Jervis Tetch had been saving some of his hat-cards for a special occasion.

Aaron Cash stepped forward, vacant-eyed, and took a swing at him. Nightwing dodged it- barely- and tossed a smoke pellet in front of the brainwashed guard. Two more guards rushed up, reaching for their weapons-

A black-gloved hand grabbed one and pulled him out of sight. Nightwing smiled and knocked the hat-card from Cash's head. Bruce had come through, just like he promised. The second mindcontrolled guard rushed up, and Nightwing quickly knocked his gun aside and snatched the chip from his hat.

Batman walked up, carrying the Mad Hatter by the collar.

"What took you so long?" Nightwing said, rubbing his head.

"Isley." Batman dropped his captive, and the Mad Hatter crumpled to a heap on the floor. "But you seemed to manage pretty well on your own. Except for the Joker."

"Eh?"

"Clayface is about to suffocate him," Batman said. He reached for his utility belt, grabbed a handful of ice pellets, and tossed them into the back of the shapeshifting villain. There was a dull flash, a long _NOOOOOO _from Clayface, and...

"Brrrr! I've got to hand it to you, Bats, that was _cold! _Say, anybody got a blanket? I could really go for a snuggle by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate and those _little _marshmallows, just you and me-"

"And that's a bad thing?" Nightwing called, looking at the half-frozen Joker with disgust.

* * *

><p>Nightwing knelt on the roof of Arkham Asylum, watching the whirl of police lights and listening to the muted chatter from the crowd. Crane and Nigma were still at large, but they'd set up a perimeter five miles from the asylum. The two villains couldn't get far. A few ambulances were on their way to pick up the victims of Isley's failed escape attempt and re-set Killer Croc's fractured collarbone. Clayface was temporarily sharing a cell with Victor Fries while the asylum administration worked on freeing the Joker. All in all, it was a good night's work.<p>

He felt a soft puff of air on his neck and knew, without turning, that he wasn't alone.

"You've got to quit sneaking up on people like that," Nightwing said. "It loses its effectiveness after the five hundredth time."

"Five hundredth and eight-first time," came Batman's deep voice. Nightwing turned, a little incredulous.

"Seriously? You keep count?"

"No."

Nightwing shook his head.

"You had me worried for a moment there."

There was a moment of silence.

"Hey, Bru- Batman, can I ask you something?" Nightwing said.

"Is it about what the Joker said? That I'm crazy, paranoid, destined to end up sharing a cell with him?"

Nightwing turned, startled.

"How'd you know? You weren't even there. But yeah... it is. Don't get me wrong. It's just sometimes, well, we see the plans and the backup plans and the backup backup plans. The files you keep on people, for instance. Like when you had that blackmail stuff on Luthor's accountant. And I know you keep Kryptonite in the Batcave. It just... makes people wonder. I wouldn't be surprised if you had a plan for neutralizing me if I went evil. Don't tell me, I don't want to know. But... do you even trust anyone?"

Batman took a step forward, his shadow suddenly much longer and darker.

"I trust you. Barbara. Alfred. Leslie. Clark, to some extent. But you have to understand, Dick. Preparation is everything. Here, in Gotham, there are no second chances."

"I tend to disagree," Dick said.

"Think about it. How do you even know my plans exist? The files, because they were used to save a city from a homicidal madman. The Kryptonite, used to stop my friend- _my friend- _from a mind-controlled rampage. The double identities, backup plans, contingencies for contingencies- you only know of their existence because they were necessary. That's not paranoia, that's being prepared."

"The Joker knows about it," retorted Dick. "How does he know about it, huh?"

"Because he's a madman, and because he wanted to hurt you," returned Batman. "And because that's what he does. The Joker is obsessed with me, with pushing me to the edge. It is inevitable that we glimpse each other's minds as we pass."

Nightwing frowned and looked back down, over the edge. Below, two police officers were returning with a lanky prisoner in Arkham grey. They had him almost to the Asylum gate when white smoke began billowing out of his sleeves. The officers fell down, coughing and screaming, and Scarecrow broke free and fled.

"And as for how I knew what he said," Batman continued, "remember, I've spent some time in Arkham myself. I've heard it all before, and it's nothing but a bad joke."

"Yeah?" Nightwing said. "Look, Bruce- thanks. For showing up. And... I guess-"

He turned back, fully expecting to see an empty moonlit roof, but the Caped Crusader was still there.

"Well?" he said.

Dick laughed and shook his head.

"You usually just disappear about now," he said. "Ah well. First time for everything. Want to help me catch Scarecrow?"

"Help you? Since when do you need help?"

Two grappling hooks shot off into the darkness together.

"I don't need help, I'm just fine on my own! Why don't you go chase the Riddler?"

"Well, if you don't think you can handle Crane on your own..."

"Gah! Fine! We'll do it together."

Overhead, the full moon shone bright and clear as two figures swung down from the asylum roof, their dark silhouettes moving in tandem as they landed outside the iron gate.

"Fine by me. Just make sure you can keep up."

"Me, keep up? You're the one who's going to have trouble keeping up, old-timer!... Er, which way do you think they went?"

* * *

><p>And there it is, the end of the story! Thanks so much to the reviewers, and many apologies for the late review. I blame Debussy (major, major concert this week). Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it.<p> 


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